


Animus Vinculum

by CharleySeverus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chamber of Secrets events, Child Abuse, Fluff and Angst, Good is Bad and Bad is Good, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Philosphers Stone events, Prisoner of Azkaban events, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28568757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleySeverus/pseuds/CharleySeverus
Summary: What if things had happened differently?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Lucius Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), to be added as they occur
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Prologue - In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction is very much a slow WIP, even the works title is a WIP.
> 
> Updates will be slow as I work through it as I am working on a monster HP fanfic titled The Bonded but this idea would not leave me be until it was started and eventually grew.
> 
> Please read the tags, there will be triggers throughout this fic in particular with child abuse. I will update the tags as they are warranted, but will highlight chapters that contain any other trigger than child abuse.

Unknown Date

He stopped, a sudden pain roaring through his body.

The air was harsh on his lungs as his struggled to draw a breath that didn’t sear through him.

The light was too bright, it hurt his sensitive eyes. And the air, it was cold and burned his skin.

A wail bubbled up from deep within him but he clamped his lips shut, determined to display no more weakness as a concerned gaze captured his own.

*

Unknown Date

He was walking through long halls, descending ever downwards when an abrupt feeling of vertigo caused double vision. He stumbled into the wall, barely catching his balance as a phantom pain lanced through his knee. His lip trembled before he shook himself free of the feeling.

*

Unknown Date

He could hear the pleading as it replayed within his mind, but he walked through the sleepy village anyway. An obsessive compulsion surged through him in ways that it had not done in years.

His breathing was calm, his heartbeat steady as he moved, as one with the shadows, as silent as a wraith.

He stopped before the address he had been given.

His mouth went dry.

His breath ripped from his body.

His heart hammered against his ribcage.

He knew this house.

He had never been there before but he knew it intimately.

He turned to go, he could not rekindle this old path, this old obsession.

He was drawn to look back; a silhouette passed a dimly lit window and a sleepy contentment washed over him.

A smile twisted full lips.

“Until next time,” his voice was soft, almost sibilant in the silence. But it did not break it, more that his voice was swallowed by the peacefulness encompassing the village.

He stepped away, the smile still upon his handsome features.

Magic snapped and curled around him and the next thing he knew… was nothing.

/*\


	2. Chapter One - Finding Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on events that occurred in Philosophers Stone

24th July 1991

Harry Potter was an unusual boy. For all intents and purposes, he looked like any other boy. Although he was probably skinnier and a bit smaller than most of the boys he went to school with. His unruly mop of black hair crept ever closer to emerald green eyes. His skin was lightly sun-kissed from hours spent toiling in the gardens doing whatever chores his Aunt dictated.

But it wasn’t his skinny appearance that made him unusual, it was the things that occurred around him at the most inopportune times.

Just like several moments before.

Dudley Dursley, a cumbersomely fat boy, had attempted to elbow his way past Harry on the stairs. Which he had managed to accomplish, leaving the much smaller boy gasping in his wake. However, he hadn’t left his shoes untied but somehow, miraculously, a lace had wriggled its way free and slithered underneath the partnering trainers sole.

Ensuring that Dudley had fallen down the stairs, crashing and screaming the whole flight.

Harry had attempted to reign in the horrified laughter, but he couldn’t. His laughter had burbled up from within his narrow chest as he stared, amazed, at the broken heap his enormous cousin had landed in at the bottom of the stairs.

His laughter had caught short, for the piercing shriek of Petunia Dursley had summoned the hulking, demonic walrus of a man who stood over his sons whimpering body.

Vernon Dursley was never a calm man when it came to dealing with Harry. His pudgy face rapidly turned puce as a large vein pulsed on his forehead. His moustache quivered with the rage he was barely containing.

“Down here, now, boy,” Vernon snarled after several wordless seconds.

Dread shivered down Harry’s spine at the sound of Vernon’s belt buckle. The sound of leather hastily being pulled through metal had the fear settling deep in Harry’s stomach. But he moved.

He couldn’t ignore his monster of an Uncle. He had to do as he said, otherwise he would be dumped at an Orphanage and left to rot.

Because no one would want a freak.

His steps felt leaden as he slowly descended the stairs, carefully manoeuvring around Dudley’s crying form.

“Vernon, he’s barely healed from last time.”

Harry could hear the hissed words of his Aunt Petunia. He knew it wasn’t said out of concern for her sisters son.

A familiar ache began in his chest, a slow; burning anger that he carefully cultivated. A tiny ember that would one day erupt into a devastating, all-consuming fire. But he couldn’t allow anything to come of it now. He needed the miserable roof over his head until he could plan for something else.

His mind drifted towards his only friend, Hermione Granger. They’d met in Year Four at school when her family had relocated to Surrey.

He could hear Hermione’s ever optimistic voice echoing around his head.

_“You never know, Harry. Thinks might change when you go to Secondary School.”_

He doubted it. And he was sure she did too.

“What’s taking that freak so long?”

“Petunia, I swear,” Vernon started, his cold anger from moments ago blazing back to life.

Harry slipped into the den that had once been Dudley’s own little sitting room, but Vernon had repurposed.

It had several bookcases containing literature that had never been read. A desk sat proudly looking towards a curtained window.

The door slammed shut as Harry’s eyes fluttered closed.

He could feel the heat radiating from his uncles fat body. The warmth of his breath as it tickled Harry’s neck.

It was the only warning he had.

Leather bit into the backs of his thighs, the lightweight trousers he wore in preparation for the scorching July heat doing little to protect him against the devastating blow.

“I’ve warned you about doing strange things, boy,” Vernon snarled, “I’ve tried everything, but you just cannot accept it.” Another painful hit landed mere millimetres from the first. “Which has led to this. It’s your fault, freak, that I have to beat you.”

Harry heard his uncles breathing change. It grew laboured as the leather thwacked across his skin once more. He bit his bottom lip, determined not to give his uncle the satisfaction of him crying out.

Vernon’s ham-like fist suddenly landed under his short-ribs, forcing any air from his lungs to come rushing out. He coughed and spluttered as his knees clacked onto the floor.

Another heavy blow landed, clattering into the side of Harry’s head like a speeding train. His ears rang and his eyes lost focus.

A heavy shoe kicked what little breath he’d managed to gasp back into his lungs, causing it to woosh back out.

“Please,” Harry begged, his voice weak and frail. Tears streamed down his face. “I didn’t mean to.”

But that only caused Vernon’s temper to fracture even further.

The ensuing sound that ripped from the man was akin to a wounded rhino.

Harry welcomed the darkness as he thrust away his hold on consciousness.

*

31st July 1991

Harry’s eleventh birthday had been his best, and yet his worst.

Two days after Dudley had fallen down the stairs, Harry had managed to slip out of his house, limping, ragged and broken to slowly make his way several streets over to a safe haven.

The Grangers.

Hermione had sobbed as she carefully helped Harry up the stairs to her bedroom, glad that her parents were both working that day as she sequestered her best friend safely within her room as her best friend begged her not to breath a word.

Another two days passed fruitlessly as Hermione tried various techniques with make-up to hide the monstrous yellowing bruise on Harry’s face before Mr and Mrs Granger found out that he was hiding in their house.

Their faces were kindly and of course they wouldn’t mind Harry staying with them for a few days, but Harry could tell they were suspicious.

Finally, his eleventh birthday dawned bright and early a whole week after the Dudley fiasco.

“Harry,” Hermione called through the shut door of the bathroom. “I think you might want to hurry up and come downstairs.”

There was a bubbling excitement within Hermione’s voice that made Harry’s stomach hitch in answer. He finished brushing his teeth hurriedly, barely sparing a glance for the myriad of bruises still covering his left flank in its entirety.

He pulled the soft shirt Mr Granger had given him on over his head and threw himself from the room and down the stairs.

“What-” Harry had begun to demand of his best friend but stopped short.

Hermione Granger stood in the kitchen, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. Her honey eyes were almost lost within the depths of her smile, her buckteeth glaring in their pristine glory.

“Harry, this is Professor McGonagall! I can’t believe it! You’re one too!” she shrieked as she could no longer contain herself and launched herself at Harry. “Professor McGonagall has your letter for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

*

2nd August 1991

Harry gripped tightly to Hermione’s hand as they followed behind the tall, stern looking woman who had delivered the most unsettling news on Harry’s eleventh birthday two days ago.

Every couple of minutes after being told he was a wizard, Harry had to pinch himself to ensure that he was truly awake and that Vernon hadn’t delivered such a catastrophic blow to his head that he struggled to discern sleeping from waking.

The streets of London were bustling, Harry felt overwhelmed by the sheer noise and volume of people hurrying to and fro along the pavements. His clutch upon Hermione’s fingers tightened until she let out a small squeak of pain, which had Harry relinquishing his grip minutely.

“Where are we going?” Harry hissed at Hermione, certain that the elderly witch could not hear him over the dull roar surrounding them.

“To Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter, where else would you hope to acquire your school equipment?” Minerva McGonagall’s accented voice floated back towards them.

“What’s Diagon Alley?”

The lure of more enticing, exciting information pulled Harry forwards, dragging Hermione in his wake, although her eyes had taken on the characteristic sheen the promise of new knowledge always brought out in her.

Harry could almost hear the roll of her eyes as a small sigh left her pinched nostrils.

“Diagon Alley is a Wizarding town. It encompasses more than just the actual street the town is named after; it is a veritable warren.”

“How have we never heard of it?”

A small smile lifted one corner of McGonagall’s lips. “There are heavy enchantments placed over it, ensuring that no Muggle would accidently discover it.”

Harry glanced sideways at Hermione, her mouth open in an ‘o’ of delighted surprise and wonderment. Harry was certain that his own face had taken on the same cast. Excitement bubbled within his chest as they strode along a mixture of wide and narrow lanes and roads, McGonagall moving unerringly, navigating the convoluted maze of London effortlessly.

“How will we know where to go?”

“The Leaky Cauldron has an Apparation Point and is also connected to the public Floo Network,” McGonagall replied.

The two youngsters shared a confused look and the elder witch seemed to sense it.

“They are magical modes of transport. You will not learn to Apparate until you are in your Sixth Year and will not gain your license until you are seventeen. The Floo Network is,” here she paused as though trying to decide the most coherent way of explaining something to the two ignorant children beside her, “a connection of fireplaces, which with the use of Floo Powder you can travel between.”

Harry felt the ‘wow’ of wonder slip from between his lips, vocalising the wonderment he felt.

Just then a huge shadow fell over them and Harry skittered away, ducking around Hermione and shrinking into McGonagall’s shadow.

The owner of said shadow disappeared as quickly as they had arrived and Harry suddenly did not wish to continue talking. His gaze flitted from pedestrian to pedestrian, his posture rigid and nervous.

“Here we are,” McGonagall said as they passed a boarded-up shop and shooed the two youngsters inside a dingy shop with nary a glance around her. “Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry stared around, inside it was dark and shabby. A gaggle of old women sat together, drinking sherry and one had a long pipe clenched between her teeth as she nodded along with what another was saying. There were a few other occupants within the pub, but none seemed to pay them any mind.

“Minerva, what a pleasant surprise!” a balding, puckered man exclaimed from behind the bar.

“Tom,” McGonagall responded in a tone that brooked no nonsense. Her hands settled on the children’s shoulders and began to steer them deeper into the pub.

“Is that…” Tom started, not perturbed by the sharp glance Harry witnessed McGonagall shoot at the barman. “Harry Potter?”

The resulting silence was deafening as every single conversation stop instantly. Noise slowly filtered through as people moved to peer over at McGonagall and her charges. The low roar of incredulous whispers set Harry’s teeth on edge.

His hand spasmed in Hermione’s, breathing picking up.

McGonagall had warned him that he was famous in their world, for defeating You-Know-Who at a mere fifteen months old when too many people, many times his age and experience, had fallen to the madman’s forces. But that hadn’t prepared him for what came next.

Chairs screeched backward over the grimy flagstone floor as everyone rushed forward to gain a closer look at the famous Harry Potter.

Harry’s breath stuttered in his lungs.

His heart thundered in his chest.

Sweat slicked his palms until he was terrified he would lose his grip on Hermione.

“Please,” Harry moaned. “Leave me be.”

None heard him as they swarmed around him.

The collective body heat, the sounds of everyone’s breath rushing from their lungs, caused Harry to curl in on himself. The memory of one singular body crowding against his caused tears to prick at his eyes.

Harry let out a sharp cry as a hand landed on his shoulder and lashed out with both magic and his fists.

Silence reined over the pub once more, a startled, tiny man stared up at Harry from the floor, his top hat askew upon his head.

“Please, leave me be.”

That time everyone heard his plaintive plea and stared at one another, shocked that their hero be such a far-cry from what they had imagined.

McGonagall stood over him protectively, her lips in a thin line as she stared down at every occupant of the pub.

“If you’ve quite had your fill of terrifying the boy, I’d thank you kindly to allow us to proceed unmolested on our way.”

Shame filled the faces still peering intently at the Boy Who Lived, until a pointed cough from McGonagall sent them scurrying back to their seats.

Hermione carefully coaxed Harry to unfurl his back and followed after McGonagall who looked as though she would hex anyone who got in their way.

“I should have Apparated you in,” McGonagall said more to herself than the two trailing behind her. “Bloody Tom and his bloody run-away mouth.”

Harry managed to focus enough on his surroundings to realise they were out in the fresh air. His racing heart began to calm as his breathing evened out. His mind slowly registered what his eyes were telling him.

They were in a small courtyard, a couple of metal, and very Muggle appearing, dustbins sat in one corner. There was nothing else apart from an archway that lead into a smaller courtyard that Harry just about registered was the Apparation Point they’d been told about earlier.

A rhythmic tapping snapped Harry’s gaze forward to McGonagall, who was touching her wand precisely on various bricks in the expanse of wall. The final tap sounded different and a mere heartbeat later, the brick quivered.

Harry’s jaw dropped as a small hole appeared within it, growing and expanding until they were facing an archway, which lead out onto a cobbled street that twisted quickly out of sight, taking the shop fronts away with the curve.

They stepped through together, Harry feeling somewhat calmer with Hermione on one side and McGonagall on the other. The rare feeling of safety encapsulated him.

Harry soon found his excitement rekindled. The street was busy but it managed to not be overwhelming like the London streets were. Instead, Harry found himself staring at each and every shop they passed. His vision swimming as he moved quickly to take everything in.

Sunlight glinted off a stack of cauldrons piled almost perilously outside one shop. Another shop had barrel upon barrel lined outside, chalked signs declaring things like ‘Dragon liver, sixteen Sickles an ounce’.

A dark shop, from which echoed soft hooting, turned out to be Eeylops Owl Emporium. Another shop had a gaggle of young boys with their noses pressed to the glass, staring wonderingly at a broomstick. There were shops that proclaimed to be tailors and seamstresses, shops selling telescopes to study the heavens, several bookshops that had Hermione moaning about not being able to explore just yet.

“Come along, we cannot go into any of the shops until you have been to Gringotts,” McGonagall barked, causing the children to startle and hurry to catch up with her.

As they turned the corner a towering, snow-white building stood proudly. As they grew closer, Harry realised that the short person stood in the shadow of the door was not in fact human. Clad in a red and gold uniform was a goblin.

It was a full head shorter than Harry, he realised as they drew abreast after mounting the stairs. It had a clever face, eyes narrowed in suspicion and its whole demeanour was sly and cunning.

Once they were within the bank, Harry had a hard time stopping himself from staring. It wasn’t just the one goblin standing guard at the entrance, every single teller within the bank was also goblin. There were humans within, but many were regarded with a wary distrust, even those that seemed to work within the bank, as though the goblins could trust none but their own with the riches contained within.

“Professor, I don’t have any money,” Harry spoke quietly, a sudden wrenching pain deep in his gut at the thought of not being able to afford anything on the considerable list tucked in his jacket pocket.

“Nonsense, Potter. Your parents left a Vault with enough money to see you through your education and beyond,” McGonagall’s voice was stern as she glanced down at him. Something akin to pity softened her scowl and Harry had to stop himself from flinching away from her regard.

Harry wondered about that. If his parents had left him an inheritance, how had the Dursley’s not known of it? Did they know his parents were magical?

_Surely Aunt Petunia knew about my mum,_ Harry thought to himself. He sighed, there was definitely a lot he did not know about his parents and extended family. It felt like a dirty secret.

“Mr Potter would like to make a withdrawal from his Vault,” McGonagall informed a goblin sat behind a podium. The goblin leaned forward to stare down at the two youngsters, it’s dark eyes narrowing. “Vault 687, if you will.”

“Does Mr Potter have his key?” The goblin demanded, its voice a low, gravelly rumble.

“Here,” McGonagall responded, handing over a tiny, golden key that looked to be no longer than Harry’s middle finger.

He didn’t have long to acquaint himself with the key as the goblin snatched it away, impossibly long fingers curling around the piece of metal.

“Griphook, escort Mr Potter to his Vault,” the goblin barked after inspecting the key for several painfully long minutes.

Another goblin appeared from behind the podium. Griphook regarded Harry with pitch black eyes and then motioned with a long-fingered hand for him to follow.

He felt a moment of panic when he realised that neither McGonagall nor Hermione would be going with him. He dithered for a moment until McGonagall’s comforting voice pierced through the haze of fear.

“We’ll be waiting for you here, Potter. I need to assist Miss Granger with converting her Muggle money.”

He nodded shakily and stepped up to where the goblin Griphook stood waiting impatiently.

Harry followed the goblin down a wide corridor, the way descending noticeably until it spat them out in a surprisingly well-lit cave. Waiting for them on a pair of narrow tracks was a tiny cart that didn’t look as though it would have held any more than him and the goblin.

Without a word, Griphook clambered in and Harry hurried to join him in the cart. Silently, the cart jolted forward and whizzed along the tracks. The wind whipped and stung at his cheeks, making his vision blur as it brought tears to his eyes. Harry was glad that he had barely managed to eat any breakfast at the Grangers’, as he was near certain that it would have made a reappearance as the track dipped alarmingly.

In next to no time, the cart jerked to a halt before a small platform. Griphook jumped out nimbly and placed the key within a tiny hole on a huge, metal door. The whir and click of mechanisms springing into action sounded loud in the heavy silence.

Griphook stood to one side and Harry felt his jaw drop.

He stared in wonder at the contents of his Vault. Piles upon piles of gold, silver and bronze stood in mountains as far back as he could see. His heart thundered at the implications.

He had been left as a poor orphan on his Aunt and Uncle’s doorstep when he was fifteen months old, to live as an abused, unwanted creature. Made to believe he was nothing more than an unwieldly burden and a freak.

He gathered as much money as he could fit in a pouch McGonagall had given him before they entered the bank and placed it carefully in his pocket. The bag, he was told, was enchanted. Both to prevent pickpockets and to weigh next to nothing. Still, the weight was comforting against his hip.

“Thank you, Mr Griphook. That’s all I require.”

Harry paid even less attention to his surroundings on the return journey, his breath leaving him shakily as he clambered out of the cart and headed back to the main area of the bank. The goblin disappeared without a word as soon as they were in the bustling area and Harry walked quickly to where Hermione and McGonagall stood waiting for him.

“All sorted, Potter?” McGonagall asked as he stepped up to them.

He nodded, unsure whether he could speak around the lump that had formed in his throat. His parents had left him enough money to live comfortably for the foreseeable future. As a child that had grown up with nothing, he couldn’t imagine what he would do with the small fortune contained within his Vault.

Although one thing he knew for certain was he would buy himself some of his own clothes. Even if he never wore them at the Dursleys, he’d hate to think what a jealous Dudley would do, he would at least not have to wear over-sized hand-me-downs whilst at school.

“Where to first?” McGonagall asked, looking down at the pair expectantly.

Harry shrugged, not having a clue where he would want to go and looked pointedly at Hermione.

“Maybe Harry should get his school robes first, I got mine already. I wouldn’t mind another look in Flourish and Botts’ though,” Hermione said, excitement over whatever a Flourish and Bott’s was evident in her voice.

McGonagall nodded and strode off, expecting the two youngsters to keep up, which they did at a slightly uncomfortable trot.

The three stopped in front of Madam Maulkin’s Robes for All Occasions and Harry peered inside the shopfront. He could see shelves stacked full of bolts of cloth and there were several mannequins sporting half-finished robes.

“It’s a small shop Mr Potter, pop inside and we shall await you here,” McGonagall directed him with a sharp nod towards the shop door.

Harry pushed the door open; a soft chiming sound echoing through the shop and stop to stare around in wonder. It screamed magic as bolts of fabric floated across the room but also seemed extremely mundane as fabric was pinned and marked by various seamstresses.

“Hogwarts dear?” a kindly older witch asked. Harry just nodded, gulping with nerves as he followed after her. “I’ve another young lad being fitted as we speak,” she added conversationally.

Harry stepped up on the low stool at the witch’s urging, facing a young wizard. His face was chubby with youth but pointed as though his adult features were wrestling to break free. A long, narrow nose sat between cold; distant grey eyes and an ugly sneer twisted his full lips.

“Watch where you’re jabbing that pin,” the boy snarled. Something about him screamed upper-class to Harry.

The other boy noticed Harry’s attention and his snarl changed to a charming smile.

“Hello, are you starting Hogwarts in September too?” he asked.

Harry could only nod dumbly in the affirmative.

“Do you know what House you’ll be in?”

Harry shook his head. Hermione had regaled him with every tidbit of information she read, almost boring him to tears at times in the two days since he’d first met Professor McGonagall but secretly glad for the preparation. “I dunno, knowing my luck I’ll end up in Hufflepuff.”

Draco’s face twisted in disgust. “I couldn’t imagine anything worse… aside from Gryffindor,” he yelped and rubbed his arm, glaring viciously at the seamstress who had her focus homed in on the hem of his robes. “I’ll be in Slytherin. It’s were my Father and Mum were housed.”

Harry smiled at the chest-swelling pride displayed on the silver-haired boys face.

“Hermione said that a lot of Dark wizards come from Slytherin,” Harry said, half-asking for the other boys opinion.

“Who’s Hermione?” he demanded instead.

“She’s my friend, we came here together but she’s off wandering the Alley with Professor McGonagall.”

“Oh, you’re Muggle-born?”

There was a way the boy said the word that made Harry’s hackles rise.

“What’s wrong with that?” Harry demanded a little bit harsher than he’d intended. Immediately Harry realised this boy is most likely a Pureblood, probably one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight Hermione had insisted he learn about.

“Well, Theo’s father says they’re lesser and Pansy’s father said they stole our magic,” the boy began.

“What does _your_ father think?”

That made the other boy falter. “He’s never said, but he deals with Muggle-born and a part of his enterprise is in Muggle cities.”

Harry cocked his eyebrow pointedly and saw the tell-tale signs of a blush creeping up the boys pale throat. He didn’t know what was drawing him to the other boy, but even with the fact that he parroted beliefs that his parents probably did not share, he felt a connection with him the way he had with Hermione.

“Oh.” The blush claimed the other boys face entirely and he looked away from Harry’s face.

“I’m Harry by the way,” Harry announced, thrusting his hand forward to the seamstress’ chagrin. “Harry Potter.”

Several gasps echoed around the room but Harry almost basked in the nonchalant expression the other boy regarded him with, the fright of the Leaky Cauldron still strong in his mind.

“Draco Malfoy.”

“Would you like to come meet Hermione?” Harry asked.

Draco Malfoy thought for a second before shaking his head. “Sorry, but Mum is expecting me.”

The pair were ushered down off the small raised daises. “I’ll see you at school then?”

Draco Malfoy nodded his head and as they were about to leave, he suddenly blurted; “I’ll ask Mum if you can come round, Father is busy working most days. I think she’d like to meet you.”

That strange blush creeped up Draco’s neck as he ducked his head.

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

The two shook hands quickly once they were free of the shop and Harry watched the platinum-haired run towards a tall, beautiful woman. She was the complete opposite of her son, hair a wavy dark ebony. Draco turned and waved at Harry, who waved shyly back, as the boy spoke excitedly to the woman.

“Come along Potter!” McGonagall barked as she and Hermione appeared beside him. “We’ve got a lot to get yet.”

*

1st September 1991

After a slow, but enjoyable, journey from London to Scotland on the train, Harry felt relief to be in the fresh air as they stepped onto Hogsmeade Stations platform. From there, a ginormous, wild-looking man called for “Firs’-years”, waving a huge lantern in front of his heavily bearded face. The giant-man lead them down to the lakeside, where they were all instructed to clamber in, “no more’n four to a boat!”.

Harry hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the spectacular silhouette of Hogwarts Castle until Draco had jostled him. The boat ride across had been smooth, but that hadn’t stopped the fear from gurgling up within him like the reported monster concealed within the dark depths below the tiny row boats. Harry, Hermione and Draco had somehow managed to travel across by themselves.

It was with a knee-buckling surge of relief that Harry clambered out of the boat and stepped onto dry land. In next to no time, they were in an ante-chamber within the castle and then lead through to the Great Hall.

A sea of faces watched expectantly as McGonagall placed a rickety looking stool and a battered hat in front of the teachers table. The hat burst into song, making Harry jump. Once the hat had finished singing, the Sorting began.

Harry stood beside Draco, his palms were sweaty and his stomach felt as though a million butterflies had taken up residence.

Hermione had already been Sorted, the Ravenclaw House having gained its first female addition to its ranks for this Sorting.

Harry was convinced that he’d throw up as soon as Draco was called away from his side.

The Hat had barely brushed over those platinum locks before screeching “SLYTHERIN!” into the silence.

Theodore Nott had promptly joined Draco, as had Pansy Parkinson; identical twins Padma and Parvati Patil had been split up into Ravenclaw and Gryffindor respectively.

And then his name was called.

“Harry Potter.” McGonagall’s Scottish brogue rang through a deathly silence as people looked to the boy who had apparently vanquished the Dark Wizard, Lord Voldemort, as a fifteen-month-old baby.

Harry walked over to the stool, his legs barely cooperating as he felt like a puppet within the grasps of a very inexperienced puppeteer and he dropped onto the stool.

The Hat slipped on to his head, covering his eyes and blocking the view of everyone leaning and peering at him as though he were an animal at the zoo.

_‘Hmm difficult, very difficult,’_ a voice crooned in his ear speculatively _. ‘Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There’s talent, oh yes. And a thirst to prove yourself. But where to put you?’_

_Anywhere, I must belong somewhere_ , Harry thought fervently.

_‘Hmm, you definitely do. There’s really only one place for you. You’re going to be great you know. And not just for what happened in your past. It’s all here in your head. Yes, I know where you need to go…’_

“SLYTHERIN!” the Hat shouted to the Hall and there was a wave of gasps in the declarations wake.

Everyone stared at Harry as though he had sprouted a second head. He slumped next to Draco and turned to face the rest of the Sorting, his eye catching on the elderly wizard sat in the centre of the table.

His beard was white as snow and his robes flamboyant. But that couldn’t hold Harry’s attention, no. It was the periwinkle blue eyes that flashed angrily, his wrinkled face twisting in disgust before he schooled his features back into impassive neutrality.

*

31st October 1991

Harry was miserable.

The sly attacks, the name-calling Harry could cope with, he’d dealt with worse, much worse, from his own family.

What he couldn’t cope with was the distance that had opened between him and Draco. The firm friendship they’d built over the summer holidays and cemented in the first week of being at Hogwarts had made Draco a target as well. The first time Draco had been hexed and received a bloodied nose Harry had told him that he shouldn’t get hurt on Harry’s behalf.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t the most excruciating pain Harry had ever dealt with.

His misery was not helped by a red-headed Gryffindor bustling his way into Harry and Hermione’s study time and rudely forcing himself upon them.

That had begun a week ago, and every time Harry had retreated from his own Common Room to seek solace in the peace and quiet of the library with Hermione, Ronald Weasley had inexplicably found them. They’d even hidden away in a seldom-used nook that was so far away from a fireplace that it was almost uncomfortably cold.

Harry slunk into the Common Room, skirting around the edges and headed down to his dorm room. He had learnt that each House had different sleeping arrangements. The Gryffindors put all of their boys in one tower, each floor containing a communal dorm-room. Draco had suggested mockingly that the Hufflepuffs slept in one big dog-pile. Hermione had told them that the Ravenclaws had the choice of how many of their classmates slept to a dorm.

Slytherin’s, luckily for him, had their own rooms. And, luckily for him, his shared bathroom was with Draco. It meant that, whilst they could not socialise out of their rooms, at least they could spend some time together once the Common Room had emptied. Although it was very much a double-edged sword for Harry as it made his loneliness in class and when Hermione had her own lessons all the harder for him to bear.

Their Hallowe’en dinner had been cut short; Professor Quirrell had charged into the middle of the feast screaming that a Troll had been let loose in the castle. Everyone else was eating their dinner in the Common Room but Harry couldn’t face the sneers and rudeness that the Slytherin’s dealt him. Instead he curled up on his bed.

A soft weight draped over him as he lay on his side, fighting against the sadness that threatened to overwhelm him and drag him into its depths. A vibrating, rumbling noise reached his ears as he unfurled himself to regard Ailuros. The pitch-black Kneazle had been the only comfort between the spots of light during the remainder of his summer holidays once Hermione and Draco had gone on holiday with their families.

Harry buried his fingers into her impossibly soft; gloriously thick fur and allowed the rumbling purr to drag him down to sleep.

24th December 1991

Christmas Eve arrived and for the first time since being Sorted into Slytherin, Harry could actually breathe easily. Every single Slytherin aside from him had gone home for Christmas. He had the whole of the Common Room to himself, he could sprawl across the comfortable couches, soaking up the heat rolling from the fire with Ailuros a purring ball on his chest, or back.

The Kneazle had disappeared with a flick of her tail as Harry’s stomach began to grumble. He hauled himself off the couch and headed towards the Great Hall for breakfast. He was secretly glad that Hermione had chosen to stay at Hogwarts with him, especially as Draco had left for Wiltshire without a backwards glance.

When he entered the Great Hall, he was almost reticent to inhabit that ginormous and extremely lonely Slytherin table. But he slid onto a bench closest to the entrance and inspected the food that appeared in his vicinity.

When his stomach gave an extra-long growl, he decided that a mountain of food would do and promptly began to pile on perfectly poached eggs, beautifully cooked sausages and the crispiest bacon he could find. Soon a generous ladleful of button mushrooms joined the rest on his plate. Freshly baked bread, slowly melting the butter, became too much of a temptation and two slices were placed beside his plate.

Harry poured himself one goblet of orange juice and another of water before tucking in. He was half-way through his breakfast when a body jostled in close beside him.

“Morning!” the chirpy voice of his best friend broke through his absent-minded eating.

“Morn’n Her’mone,” Harry mumbled through a massive mouthful of food. He turned to Hermione, who was looking at him in disgust. Her tiny nose scrunched up with her distaste. A quick shake of her head and she helped herself to yoghurt and fruit.

“Wotcha, Harry!” another voice exclaimed as he was jostled on his other side.

Harry barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Hi Ron,” he politely said. He turned back to Hermione, who was looking pointedly at Ron Weasley. Harry could only shrug.

He’d never really wanted to become anything more than acquaintances with the red-headed Gryffindor, who constantly seemed to forget what House Harry was in. But he found it easier to just allow the red-head in his presence than try to deal with the glares and muttering.

“What are you guys up to today?”

Harry felt the sigh leave him. “Hermione and I are going to go to the Library.” He hoped that would get the lazy Gryffindor off their backs.

“No! It’s Christmas Holidays!” Ron gasped.

Harry had found that Ron almost had an aversion to entering Madam Pince’s domain and utilised it to the best of his capabilities. It also helped that none of the Slytherin’s would dare do anything under Pince’s eagle eye.

“Our homework doesn’t disappear just because it is the Christmas Holidays, Ronald,” Hermione snapped haughtily.

“But Harry, don’t you want to meet my friends? I can’t wait to introduce them to the Boy-Who-Lived!”

Harry was already shaking his head and felt Hermione freeze beside him.

“Sorry, Ron. But I need to get my Potions essay done. Professor Snape won’t be happy if it’s not ready to hand in.”

“C’mon Harry. The greasy bat won’t hold it against one of his own. He’s always favoured you lot,” Ron chuckled, his blue eyes searching the others’ faces until he slowly realised that no one else found what he had said amusing. “Fine. Be boring and go off with your little friend to the library,” he finally spat nastily.

Harry felt a weight lift off him as the Gryffindor shoved away from the table and sauntered off to a group of red-heads.

“Come on, I’m not hungry anymore,” Harry said after a moment, pushing away from the table himself and slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

The two headed towards the library and settled down by a hearthplace that was throwing out a glorious amount of heat.

“He’s just using you, you know Harry,” Hermione began as they pulled out their books. “He just wants to be friends with the Boy-Who-Lived. He pretty much said so himself.”

“I know, Hermione, but seriously, he’s more of a pain in the arse when I ignore him.” Harry sighed, wishing for the first time that he wasn’t at Hogwarts. That he didn’t have to deal with a red-headed, belligerent arsehat of a Gryffindor.

*

25th December 1991

Harry blinked sleepily as a chirrup from Ailuros pierced his sleep-fuelled haze. He could feel a weight on the foot of his bed, trapping his bedding more than the Kneazle would normally manage.

He sat up and knuckled his eyes to rid them of sleep and gasped at the sight that greeted him.

“I have presents! Ailu, look! I have presents!” he grabbed the Kneazle who purred in contentment at the proximity, a rough swipe of her tongue over his cheek before she bumped heads with him. After Harry had held his familiar to his chest for several moments, just trying to comprehend the sight before him fully, he carefully placed Ailuros beside him and pulled his duvet towards him. The pile of presents slid up on the material and he examined each parcel before reading the labels.

Harry recognised Hermione’s writing immediately and tore into the paper revealing a box full of sweets. There were Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott’s beans, Sugar Quills and Ice Mice. He smiled down at the gift. He’d never been allowed sweets before, and there were never any at the Grangers’ either with Hermione’s parents both being dentists.

The next present bore a letter sealed with an ornate wax crest.

_Harry,_

_Sorry we couldn’t celebrate Christmas together, but Mum said you have to come home with me for Easter. She really wants you here for our next holidays._

_Father’s also Apparating me to Hogsmeade on the 1 st, so meet me at the station at nine?_

_Anyway, hope you like these._

_Draco._

Harry’s heart clenched painfully in his chest at the small note. A smile rippling across his features. The sappy feeling welling up within him was soon forgotten at the sight of Draco’s present, which turned out to be a luxurious scarf made of fabric so soft that Harry feared he’d damage it.

He wrapped the scarf around his neck and instantly felt warmth radiate from the material. He buried his chin as he reached for his final present. His brow furrowed at the lack of label, but he assumed that it was meant for him otherwise the Elves would not have left it on his bed.

The wrappings were brown paper and it soon revealed a smallish notebook that looked rather old. He opened the cover and his heart stuttered. Tears pricked at his eyes.

_Lily Evans_

He ran his forefinger over the loppy, feminine handwriting as though he could reach through and touch his mother’s hand that had written the name. He sat staring at the page for an interminable amount of time, chin tucked into his scarf as his vision cleared and then went blurry again.

*

31st May 1992

Harry had finally been accepted by his house-mates, thanks to the Malfoy’s, which meant he was never without Draco. And when they were studying they were always accompanied by Hermione.

The past five months of Hogwarts had flown for Harry, no longer feeling like an outcast, instead he had begun to excel in his classes and had studied his mother’s journal obsessively, which turned out to be her school experiments in Potions.

Harry had been shocked to discover his mother and Head of House had been best friends until their fifth year, at which point Lily Evans stops writing about their tinkering and friendly rivalry. Instead, she’d lost her focus on Potions, just excelling in class with no extra-curricular studying happening.

Regardless of Harry’s general happiness and enjoyment there was still one problem for him at Hogwarts.

“Harry, I swear mate. He’s not good, I heard him threatening Quirrell. There’s something in the castle that Snape wants to help return You-Know-Who!” Ronald Weasley hissed in his ear as they stared out over the Black Lake.

“Not this again, Ron! Honestly. You told me yourself that that Hagrid had said Professor Snape helped protect whatever’s in the castle. He’s not some double agent that’s going to help Voldemort suddenly return to power.”

It was the first time Harry had said Voldemort’s name and he felt a funny shudder bolt through him. He’d grown accustomed to the taboo, even if he didn’t understand it himself, but everyone flinched at the sound of it. He’d forgotten not to say Voldemort just then and he suddenly had a bout of double vision.

He felt as though he was straining and fighting against some form of restraints. He could sense magic, almost taste it as he breathed.

And then he was back in Hogwarts, the view over the Black Lake coalescing once more.

“-swear mate, he’s up to something. Dodgy as anything that old Dungeon Bat is!”

“Whatever, Ron,” Harry said just to shut the ginger idiot up.

*

7th June 1992

Harry had let Ron suck him into his conspiracies and had ended up slipping past a three-headed dog, navigating a Devils Snare, catching a flying key on a broom and working his way across a gigantic chessboard. He’d then had to figure out a logic puzzle, which had lead him into a room where Professor Quirrell had been stood gazing at a Mirror.

Harry had somehow ended up with the Philosopher’s Stone, an alchemic creation of Nicholas Flamel’s, but Quirrell had gone mad and attacked Harry physically and magically.

That had been three days ago and he finally woke up in the Hospital Wing.

“I warned you that Quirinus was not right after his travels,” a harsh drawl snapped. “I do not believe that Potter should still be here, he should be getting professional assistance at St. Mungo’s!” Harry could hear an open palm slam into something. “And I do not understand why I am saying this yet again, Albus! You have a duty of care to each and every child within these walls!”

Harry didn’t dare turn towards the conversation, scared that the wrath of the unknown speaker would descend upon him.

“My boy.”

“Do _not_ ‘my boy’ me Albus!”

Just then a door slammed and Madam Pomfrey appeared at the foot of Harry’s bed.

“Are you awake yet, dear?” she asked softly, a frown creasing her brow.

He blinked and yawned, feigning grogginess, as he stretched only to wince mightily as pain shot down the left-hand side of his body.

“Here, take this, it’s a pain potion,” the Mediwitch commanded softly as she proffered a small vial. Harry gulped it down and felt the healing warmth flow through him.

The relief of the potion pulled him down into a restful slumber. When he next awoke, some several hours later, the pain in his side had diminished to barely noticeable and the only light he could make out was that of a couple of lanterns hanging around his bed.

He barely bit back a yell of surprise when he turned his head to the sight of the Headmaster.

“Good evening, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore said. “I hope you are feeling better?”

Harry just nodded, unsure whether he wanted to be in such close proximity with the Headmaster. The man had always regarded Harry with a dark look in his normally bright, twinkling gaze. “I am sure you are curious as to what occurred between yourself and Mr Quirrell?”

Harry turned a curious gaze on the wizard sitting in the chair at his bedside. Never before had the Headmaster deigned to speak to Harry personally, nor even indirectly as far as Harry was aware, so he couldn’t help but wonder what was provoking this sudden interest in his well-fare.

Harry just shrugged, slumping back against his pillows. He found a loose thread at the corner of his blanket and fiddled with it, refusing to look back up at those judging blue eyes.

“The way I see it, Professor, is a man you hired to teach students attacked me. I do not need to know anything more or less than that really,” Harry snapped after a moment of silence, unable to contain the anger slowly building within it. “Much the same as why you left me with abusive Muggles when the goblins are looking after a fortune in my name!”

“Ah, Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore began and immediately the grandfatherly tone caused Harry’s hackles to rise. “It was all done for the Greater Good.”

Harry felt sick. His heart thundering in his chest at his audacity and also at the way Dumbledore had disregarded his words. The conversation he had overheard made more sense, the others voice so fraught with anger and disappointment were echoes of Harry’s own emotions.

“I think I need to rest some more,” Harry snarled, turning his back on the Headmaster and thumping down into the pillows. He resolutely did not budge an inch when he heard the rustle of robes and soft footsteps disappearing away from his bedside.

*

18th June 1992

The train ride back to London was sombre for Harry. Despite how his school year had finished, he would have rather stay at Hogwarts through the Summer Holidays than live with the Dursleys for just over two months again.

His body had almost fully healed and he had managed to pack a bit of meat on to his previously starved and skinny frame. But he had to return to Surrey.

As they clambered off the train together, Hermione and Draco turning together as one.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah Harry?” Hermione managed to say before Draco opened his mouth. “Don’t forget though, my parents are taking me to France for three weeks. I’m going to miss your birthday but I’ll make it up to you afterwards.”

Harry grabbed her in a brief hug, relieved to know that in little over twelve hours, he could be back in the safety of the Grangers. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Come on, I’ll take you through to Muggle London,” Draco said, jerking his head in the direction of the passage between Platform Nine and Three Quarters and Muggle Kings Cross.

Before they got any further than making sure Ailuros’ carry-cage was secure on top of Harry’s school trunk, two of their fellow Slytherin’s appeared.

“Have a good summer Potter,” Blaise Zabini said and thrust his hand out to shake Harry’s.

“Yeah, see you next year,” Gregory Goyle mumbled and then shambled off to where an even more giant version of himself stood next to a surprisingly petite woman.

“C’mon,” Draco said once the other two had disappeared back into the milling crowd.

“Draco! Harry!” a feminine voice called out and abruptly Harry was swamped in a hug, his cheek pressed to delicate, lightweight robes.

“Mum!”

“Hello, Cassiopeia,” Harry said shyly as he was released from her embrace.

“Come, Harry, I shall walk you through to Kings Cross and to your family,” Lucius’ severe voice broke through the reunion.

“Yessir,” Harry replied instantly, snapping to attention. He turned to Draco and quietly said, “See you soon.”

He was following behind the straight-backed form of Lucius Malfoy, when Draco appeared at his side.

They passed through into the chaos of Muggle Kings Cross and the two youngsters followed behind Lucius as he opened an easily navigated passage between the press of bodies.

Waiting at the kerb near the entrance to the station was the Dursleys. Petunia was fussing over Dudley when Vernon turned towards them. His eyes bugged out of his head at the sight of Lucius Malfoy in his expensive; tailored three-piece suit.

“I’ll see you during the holidays, Harry,” Draco said loudly.

“Yes, I expect to hear from Draco that you are doing well until we can arrange a time for you to come and stay,” Lucius added imperiously. He towered over Vernon, easily head and shoulders taller, and he used his impressive height and solid build to intimidate the cringing Muggle.

“See you,” Harry said, shaking Draco’s and then Lucius’ hands confidently before taking a deep, calming breath to face his family.

*

Unknown Date

Harry tossed and turned, his thin blanket barely covering his body. His sole comfort was Ailuros as she tucked herself tightly against his side. As she began to purr, a thundering rumble, Harry settled and dipped back into sleep.

/*\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :)


	3. Parseltongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events in this chapter are based in Chamber of Secrets.
> 
> *TRIGGER WARNING*  
> There is a small description of abuse.
> 
> On the upside, there is a nice bit of fluffiness in this chapter

31 st July 1992

Harry Potter woke up early on the morning of his twelfth birthday.  His open window allowed the cool breeze to waft through. 

It was  only in the hottest months of the Summer that Harry actually appreciated the threadbare thing that the Dursley’s classed as a blanket suitable for the horrid secret they kept in the spare room of Number Four Privet Drive.

A dirty secret that  they found easier to hide ever since a stern lady had arrived at the Granger’s where he had been staying the previous summer to inform Harry that he had been invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Harry lay back on his bed, absentmindedly petting  Ailuros as she  clambered in through the window and then on to his bed, where she promptly began kneading at the thin blanket and purring in contentment.

He dozed for a short while, lulled by the comfort of  Ailuros until  the noises floating up towards his bedroom grew too much for him to ignore.

“Where’s that boy!” he could hear Vernon muttering every five minutes or so.

With a heartfelt sigh, he pushed himself up, careful to not disturb the  Kneazle and his gaze alighted on several parcels that had been left on his desk underneath the  open window. Excitement bubbled within him. 

There were three parcels, but it was two more than he’d ever received before .

“Where is that blasted boy!?” 

The angry words shattered his excitement and Harry hurriedly washed and dressed, being careful to make sure he pulled out the oversized, tatty cast-offs of Dudley’s and  quickly descended the stairs.

“Sorry Uncle Vernon,” Harry murmured contritely. He took care to ensure that his eyes were cast down and his already small body appeared even smaller. The quickest way for him to end up on the floor  was to stand tall  with his chin raised.

The small part of him that had grown in confidence and assurance railed against this switch to submissiveness, but Harry  did not wish to find himself coming to in a pool of blood again. He would do what he could to keep his temper in check.

Harry slid into a chair at the table . He knew it was his chair because a bowl of bland, disgusting looking porridge sat waiting him. It was barely lukewarm when he dipped his spoon in and began eating it.

A long, loud belch rumbled through the kitchen.

Harry glanced up to see his cousin smacking his lips, his beady dark eyes almost lost under folds of fat as he surveyed the remainder of the Dursley’s fried breakfast.

“I want more bacon .”

“There’s more in the dish,  sweetums ,” Petunia  replied in a misty voice, looking upon her son with a doting, sappy smile on her face.

“Pass the  bacon,” Dudley demanded, turning to Harry as the smile reserved for his mother slid off his face.

“You forgot the magic word,” Harry muttered  as he picked up the dish.

The effect of such a simple, and mundane, sentence on the rest of the family was instantaneous. Dudley screamed and fell off his chair, shaking the whole house with the impact ; Petunia let out a wailing moan and clutched at her throat . But Harry only had eyes for his Uncle.

Vernon launched himself to his feet, a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple as he stared down at the young boy.

“Please! I meant please!” Harry began desperately. “I didn’t mean -”

Whatever Harry was attempting to say was cut off as a meaty slap landed on his cheek. He saw stars for several seconds . When he could refocus his gaze, he was slumped against the table and Vernon hovered menacingly over him.

“What have I told you about saying the M word in our house?” Vernon thundered , spittle spraying as his face slowly turned an ugly puce.

“I’m sorry!” Harry cowered and cringed, the sting of the slap burning his  cheek still.

Vernon  stilled, panting heavily as he looked down at Harry. With a grunt he sat back down.

Harry, once he deemed it safe enough, pulled himself back into his chair and slowly resumed eating his porridge. The conversation flowed over the top of his head as Vernon blathered on about the  dinner they were holding for the Mason ’s that very evening.

Once Vernon was  content they had the schedule down pat, he announced that he was going out. Harry was told in no uncertain terms t o stay out of his  aunts way. 

So he did. 

He slipped out into the garden, where he hopped the fence and slowly walked around the neighbourhood. 

He desperately wished to while his time away at the Granger’s house, but they were in France for at least another week.

After roaming the streets for a couple of hours, Harry had returned to the Dursley’s the same way he’d left and begun tidying the garden up. It was hot, back-breaking work, but he knew Vernon would be extremely displeased if the garden hadn’t been tended, even if the Mason’s wouldn’t step foot in it that evening.

It was half past seven when he heard Petunia calling for him.

“Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!”

It was with relief that Harry stepped into the shade of the kitchen, treading on a newspaper  pathway as he did.

“Eat quickly, the Mason’s will be here soon,” Petunia snapped. On the kitchen counter was a plate with a slice of bread, a lump of cheese and a wrinkly apple.

Harry bolted his measly meal after washing his hands and quickly departed the kitchen, his trainers clutched in one hand as he  mounted the stairs.

“One sound, boy, and there will be trouble,” Vernon snarled as the doorbell rang.

Harry  disappeared up the stairs quickly and threw himself gratefully on the bed. He could hear the murmured conversation as the Dursley’s greeted the Mason’s at the door. Soon the voices disappeared into the living room.

After several moments of just lying on the lumpy mattress, feeling his muscles relax, he pulled himself back up and padded over to the desk.

The first parcel was, predictably, from Hermione. She’d enclosed a small letter that detailed the adventures she and her parents were experiencing in France. They’d managed to find a couple of  wizarding settlements, which would not allow her parents in. She also missed him and couldn’t wait to see him again before they went back to Hogwarts.  In the parcel was a luxurious black sweater that felt as though it was made of the softest fabric that if it was washed, it would melt away into nothing.

Draco’s letter was much more substantial. He informed Harry that Lucius had arranged for  Portkey travel on August the fifth and he would be staying with them at the Manor for the remainder of the holidays.

The present from Draco was as much for Ailuros as Harry as it turned out to be a comprehensive text of Kneazles. As Harry flicked through it, it detailed ways in which Kneazles can manifest magical abilities and also the best way to keep them entertained. He was so enthralled in the contents of the book that he almost forgot about the last present, until Ailuros paffed it several times causing it to land in his lap.

As with his mysterious Christmas present last year, this present came with no label. He tore  at  the brown paper  to reveal a photo album.

Tears sprang to his eyes as he flicked it open to reveal a photo of Lily and James Potter on their wedding day.

He studied  each and every photo with the utmost care, familiarising himself with his parents. There was also an older couple that Harry assumed to be his grandparents . Suddenly, his family was no longer an imagined image. He had concrete proof of their lives, and the impact of his birth within that.

Harry was just smiling down at the photo of Lily and James’ wedding day, the pair laughing with a handsome man with dark hair when a shrill scream rent through the air.

Ailuros growled and launched herself from the desk, slipping nimbly through the  barely open door and disappeared down the stairs.

Harry hastily pushed his presents into  his charmed  schoolbag and sprinted downstairs, his mouth  dry with fear.

He skidded to a halt to absolute carnage.  Ailuros was stalking a  wearily fluttering owl that had a letter clamped in its beak. A strange lady, Mrs Mason he assumed, was screaming bloody murder as Mr Mason  hollered that his wife was deathly afraid of birds. 

The Mason’s stormed out of the house and Vernon spun on Harry, a demonic glint in his eye.

“What is the meaning of this?” he snarled, his voice soft and dangerous.

Harry couldn’t answer. His throat had  closed up with fear as his stomach lurched. Just then the owl dropped from the air and  landed at his feet.

Harry snatched up the letter, hastily stuffing it in his pocket as  Ailuros let out a piercing yowl and launched herself at the  recovering bird.

Harry managed to intercept his  Kneazle as  Petunia was carefully corralling the owl from the house. 

Ailuros darted towards the open patio doors as Vernon stepped towards him menacingly. 

“I warned you boy, I did.”

There was an unsettling shake to Vernon’s voice as he grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and dragged him upstairs. Harry let himself go limp as he was forcefully pulled up the stairs and into his room.

He’d barely scrabbled to his feet after Vernon let go of him to greet a fist thundering its way through the air. It connected solidly with the side of his head. Before darkness overwhelmed him, he could have sworn he heard something crack.

*

1 st August 1992

Moonlight bathed his room as Harry groaned, consciousness finally returning to him. 

His head was pounding, his side burned as he inhaled. Fear pulsed through him at the way his breathing sounded wet.

His body felt wrong, wrong in ways he’d never experienced it. The carpet underneath him was sticky and he whimpered when he forced himself to his feet.

He needed help and he needed it desperately.

For some reason, the first person who came to mind was Mrs  Figg . A kindly lady who had seemed extremely odd to Harry until he had started at Hogwarts, but now that he knew about magic, his  gut told him she was the person he needed to get to.

Somehow, through an almost blinding haze of pain, Harry managed to grab his schoolbag and half- staggered, half-crawled down the stairs. He eased the front door open and the  night air snapped some of the pain-haze from his mind.

Harry stumbled down the road and crossed, leaning on cars and lamp posts as they made themselves available to him until he clattered through Mrs  Figg’s front garden gate. His heart leapt at the sight of a light deep within the house and he pressed the doorbell.

Five minutes of silence until he heard the scuff of  slippered feet moving through the house.

“Who’s there?” a querulous voice demanded from behind the closed door.

“Harry Potter, I need help,” Harry managed, his voice  weak and thready with pain.

The door opened and a gasp greeted him. “In my boy, quickly.”

“I need to owl the Malfoy’s,” Harry groaned as his bag slipped from limp fingers in the hallway and he staggered through to the living room. Years of being left with Mrs  Figg had left him familiar with the layout of the downstairs.

“Right you are, my dear. First, sit down. I’ll get parchment and quill,” Mrs  Figg said. 

Harry registered the words but couldn’t pinpoint the importance. Instead he collapsed gratefully on a dining chair and slumped forwards. He moaned as it cause pain to shoot through him.

A quill and parchment were placed in front of him and he hastily scrawled a note to Draco begging for help.

Whilst he was writing, Mrs  Figg was fussing around him.

“Oh my boy, an owl will not do, I cannot get you the help you need, but I have a scrap of Floo Powder and my hearth has thankfully been forgotten in the Network,” Mrs Figg tutted. 

Harry stared blearily, his head throbbing, as he watched Mrs Figg kneel down at a tiny hearth. The flames flared green as she threw powder in calling for ‘Malfoy Manor’. Harry would have shouted in fright if he could muster the energy as he watched Mrs Figg’s head disappear into the fire.

After a few long; painful minutes, she pulled back.

Two cracks rent through the air,  similar to the sound of a car back-firing and a furious pounding began on the front door.

“Where is he?” a cold voice snarled when Mrs  Figg disappeared down the hallway to answer it.

“Lucius, please, this will not help,” a female voice spoke calmly.

Harry forced himself to sit up at the sound of the name.  A feeling of calm descended on him.

Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway and stared at Harry. 

Harry had never seen much emotion in the Lord Malfoy’s face when outside of the Manor, but he watched, horrified, as the icy façade cracked. Rage blazed in those ordinarily arctic eyes and a  feral snarl twisted his face.

“Where do they live?” he demanded coldly .

“Lucius, you will not help anything by going to the Muggle’s house,” Cassiopeia Malfoy interrupted as she placed a hand on her husband’s forearm. “Take Harry home and have  Dobby and  Jossy tend to him.”

Her voice was calm but underneath that softness, there was the steeliness of command. 

It took two strides of Lucius’ long legs to reach Harry, where he dropped down into a crouch. Harry  focused on Lucius’ face as concern overwhelmed the instinctual rage.

“I need to Side-Along with you, Harry. That means I need to touch you, is that okay?” his voice was  soft and Harry found himself reacting to it as a feeling of protection and safety settled upon his shoulders.

He nodded and winced. “I don’t think I can stand again,” he  murmured and tears trickled down his face.

“I shall pick you up then,” Lucius  responded and Harry felt strong arms slide around his body tenderly, pulling him towards a  broad chest and cradled him there. “Cassiopeia, do not dally.”

That was the last Harry heard before he felt as though he was being dragged through the worlds tiniest tube. He was just starting to panic when the sight of a strange room coalesced before him.

“We are in my study, ” Lucius informed him as he placed him on a couch that seemed to cradle  each and every part of Harry’s body just as Lucius had done. “I will summon the Elves and then we shall get you settled in a guest room.”

*

8 th August 1992

Harry had been at the Malfoy’s for a week . His injuries had fully healed under the dutiful eyes of  Jossy , who he learned was the Malfoy’s Head Elf and  Dobby , who had been trained as a  Medi-Elf . He had been pampered and spoilt in ways he had  _ never _ experienced before.

Harry was commanded by  Dobby to remain in bed for  fiv e full days, and then he wasn’t allowed to leave his room for another two. He was beginning to grow extremely bored by the time the bossy  Medi-Elf gave him the all-clear

Once Harry was freed from his room, he was soon set upon by Draco. 

“Harry! I’ve been so worried. Mum told me some of what happened and then  Jossy banned me from being near your suite.”

Harry laughed gaily at the image supplied of a commanding  Jossy berating the twelve-year-old wizard.

Draco smiled in response. “Anyway, Mum and Father are in the Solarium, would you like some breakfast?”

Harry nodded eagerly and  followed Draco through the house. 

The limited times he’d been in the Manor the previous summer had only compounded the belief that Draco lived in a maze. It was full of intersecting corridors and, from what Harry understood, it was spread over five floors.

“Look who’s up!” Draco crowed as he burst through the door.

Harry stepped from behind him shyly.

“Come here, darling,” Cassiopeia said, motioning Harry forward with a wave of her hand. Cassiopeia stood and drew him into a  warm embrace that almost made tears spill from Harry’s face.

The hugs he received from Hermione had always soothed something within him, but it was nothing in comparison to the loving, tender embrace of a mother.

“How are you feeling?  Jossy informed us that  Dobby was beginning to  lose his mind with how to keep you from  un doing all his hard work.”

Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks. “A lot better. I was a bit mean to  Dobby yesterday.”

That drew a laugh, a deep, booming sound, from Lucius . “I am sure you did no worse than Draco has done in his time.”

Conversation flowed easily as Harry joined the two elder Malfoy’s at the table . A shy Elf appeared at Harry’s side to give him a few potions that  Dobby insisted he continued taking.

“Thank you, Daisy,” Harry said to the girl-Elf. Daisy giggled nervously and disappeared with the empty phials.

“Father, can you take us to the Quidditch pitch after breakfast?”

“Yes Draco,” Lucius replied absent-mindedly as he flicked through the  mornings edition of the Daily Prophet, his brows furrowed over an  article he was reading.

Draco pumped his fist as he whispered  conspiratorially to Harry; “It’s always best to ask something when he’s reading the paper.”

Harry felt excitement growing in him. He had loved Flying lessons last year, even if it had been with Gryffindor’s. And  he’d felt as though all his worries disappeared from his shoulders when he had mounted the school brooms.

Lucius had grumbled about being swindled but had mussed Draco’s hair good-naturedly when Draco had reminded him of his promise. 

Side-Along  Apparation hadn’t been quite so bad the second time but Harry still felt the beginnings of panic just as his feet thumped into thick, luxurious grass.

“Wow.”

He stared at the pitch. It had a strange, netted dome encompassing it. Draco informed him that it was charmed to allow fresh air through but none of the balls from beyond the perimeter. The posts stood tall and proud in their groupings of three at either end.

“You going to try out this year?” Draco asked as they walked towards a wooden structure.

“Yeah, I think so, are you?” Harry replied.

“Yeah, I  wanna be a Chaser, you’d suit Seeker I think,” Draco responded as he pulled open the door. Stored carefully within were several brooms .  There were several  Cleansweeps and  Nimbus’ but Harry found his gaze drawn inexorably to the immaculate, pristine Nimbus 2001’s. Draco grabbed one for himself and offered another to Harry.

“Mum said Happy Birthday,” he said .

“What?” Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“Mum and Father got you this for your birthday,” Draco repeated as though Harry was both dumb and slow.

“You’re kidding right?” 

Draco laughed and shook his head. “Come on, Father won’t hang about for long. He normally has business calls to take just before lunch.”

Harry soon lost himself to the feeling of the highly responsive broom between his legs. It allowed his mind to wander to pleasant thoughts.

He thought of the kindly way Lucius  doted on his son and transferred that care easily to Harry. And Cassiopeia had accepted Harry into her life just as easily as she had done her  step-son .

Harry had never felt so accepted and loved in a household. Even Mr and Mrs Granger held him at a distance, seemingly only tolerating him because of the way their daughter  had blossomed since their friendship had begun.

The Malfoy’s had gone out of their way to welcome him into their home, even going as far as to speak to the Heads of other families about the way their heirs were treating Harry at Hogwarts.

He was safe. Cared for. Loved.

He didn’t have to worry about Lucius intimidating him with his considerable height. He never feared that Lucius would raise his fist in anger at Harry.

He also didn’t have to worry about Cassiopeia doting on Draco more than him. She had so much love to give that she never left Harry out, just as likely to pull Harry into a one-armed embrace and squeeze him to her side as she was Draco.

Harry was happy at the Manor.

He was safe.

*

19 th August 1992

A week and a half later,  Daisy woke Harry in his room.

“The Master and Mistress are sayings if you  does not  gets up soon, you shall be missing breakfasts,” Daisy said in a stern voice as she gathered up clothing for Harry to change into.

Harry threw back the cover and slunk off into his en - suite bathroom for a quick wash. Clad only in a towel, he re-entered his bedroom.

“These will be fines,” Daisy proclaimed, thrusting a bundle of clothes into Harry’s arms. “Hurry ups now, Mister Harry , breakfast is  waitings !”

The House-Elf disappeared with a crack and Harry couldn’t help the laugh from bubbling up  and leaving his mouth. He pulled on the clothes, a new pair of jeans that fit him perfectly and a  polo shirt. Whilst the Malfoy’s regularly wore  Wizarding clothes, they did not mind that Harry and Draco wore Muggle clothing…  as long as it was smart.

He slid his feet into a pair of comfortable trainers and  wound his way down from the third floor to the Solarium where they regularly breakfasted.

Draco was already sat at the small table, as was Cassiopeia and Lucius. Lucius , as was usual , had his nose buried in the Daily Prophet, his legs crossed at the knee as he sipped at a cup of steaming coffee. Cassiopeia was looking fondly at Draco as he ate what was probably his fourth sausage sandwich, whilst she drank slowly from her own cup of  tea. Crumbs adorned the plates set in front of both elder  Malfoy .

“Morning dear,” Cassiopeia greeted Harry. “You don’t have very long to eat I’m afraid, Lucius has business to tend to .”

Harry sat down, nodding after murmuring a greeting in return and his plate was piled with three bacon sandwiches.

The relaxed atmosphere did not give away the fact that they were due to leave in ten minutes. Harry was used to Petunia dithering and Dudley’s tantrums slowing proceedings. He much preferred the peace and quiet.

Once his plate was cleared of food, he and Draco followed behind the Lord and Lady Malfoy, who looked resplendent in their robes, Lucius’ a charcoal grey and Cassiopeia’s a rich, navy blue, walked ahead with their arms linked.

Harry followed them into the Receiving Room, where there wasn’t one  eight-foot-tall fireplace, there were three! Each one had an elegant pot on a shelf at waist height and Lucius dipped into one.

He threw the powder into the fire, as Mrs  Figg did on that awful day, and called out, “ Diagon Alley ,” once the flames went green. He stepped through and disappeared.

“You next Draco.”

Draco did  exactly the same and then it was Harry’s turn.

“I’m sure you’ve not travelled by  Floo before, but do not worry. Speak the destination clearly and keep your elbows tucked in tightly,” Cassiopeia  said, her tone assuring.

Harry nodded, grabbed a handful of the powder and did exactly as Lucius and Draco had done before him.  He felt nervous as he stepped into the flickering green flames, which felt like a warm breeze on his skin.

It felt as though he was being sucked down a plug hole, spinning very fast . Noise roared in his ears and he promptly screwed his eyes tight shut against the spinning .

He was spat out after several dizzying minutes and landed in a crumpled heap in front of  someone’s feet.

“Up you get, boy,”  the drawling tones of Lucius commanded as a gentle hand cupped his upper arm to help him up.

A quick wave of Lucius’ wand and all the soot was sucked off his clothes, leaving him clean and tidy once more.

Not a moment later, Cassiopeia stepped out and motioned her hand over her front to clear her robes of soot as well.

“Come on then , we’ve got much to do,” she commanded, before pressing a chaste kiss to the angle of Lucius’ jaw. “We shall see you in a couple of hours.”

Lucius nodded and ruffled Draco and Harry’s hair before striding off from the public  Floo and disappearing around a corner.

“Lucius withdrew this for you, Harry,  so that we didn’t have to waste time at the bank,” Cassiopeia said once she’d got the two boys moving. She handed him a hefty  purse of money and Harry smiled gratefully up at her, stammering his thanks.

As they turned a corner, Harry was slammed into by a bushy-haired body.

“Harry!” Hermione squealed . Her skin had turned a golden brown in the French sun and her hair looked shiny and a bit lighter. “Draco, Lady Malfoy,” she continued a bit more shyly when she pulled away from Harry to regard the two Malfoy’s watching her.

“Hermione, dear, I have told you numerous times, call me Cassie  or at least Cassiopeia,” Cassi opeia said with a smile on her face.

“ Yes Lady Malfoy, I mean Cassiopeia, I mean Cassie,” Hermione stammered and dipped into a strange half-aborted curtsey.

Harry, Draco and Hermione talked together as Cassiopeia followed behind them, giving them room. Harry carefully made no mention of what occurred on his birthday , instead focussing on the anonymous gift he’d received.

They waltzed around the Alley, stopping to go into shops to gather new materials and ingredients as and when they needed. Harry stared longingly at the shop front of  Eeylops Owl Emporium.

“If you want an owl so badly, why don’t you just get one?” Draco demanded whilst Hermione was perusing the shelves of a bookstore next door.

“Because  Ailu almost killed the bloody one that ruined my birthday,” Harry hissed in reply ,  throwing nervous glances at where he’d last seen Hermione. “Maybe next year.”

Once they’d done all the smaller shops, Lucius joined them.

“I’ve  ordered Draco and Harry’s new robes,” he sighed as he placed his hand in the small of Cassiopeia’s back.

“Thank you, darling,” she replied as she pre ssed her lips to the corner of his mouth.

They  headed towards Flo urish and  Blotts ’ , only to see people thronging around. Above it proclaimed that  Gilderoy Lockhart would be signing his newest book, Magical Me.

Harry and Draco rolled their eyes as Hermione squealed in excitement , muttering as they pushed their way into the bookshop.

A n overwhelmed and frustrated looking  wizard stood by the door and they told him what books they needed.  Harry snickered when Hermione pushed up on to her tiptoes and peered through the crowd to try and catch a glimpse of the wizard sequestered near the back of the shop, surrounded by thronging women.

“The man’s a fraud,” Cassiopeia muttered .

Just then the Weasley’s appeared,  each and every one of them sporting the familiar  red-hair .

Harry jostled Ron.

“That letter you sent got me in a lot of trouble, why didn’t your owl find me in my room??” Harry snapped.

“Oh,” Ron said, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment, “Errol is a bit unreliable.”

“Well, don’t use him to write to me ever again.” The last was said with a snarl as Harry turned back towards the Malfoy’s only to see Lucius sneering down at an older  red-head .

“Well, well, well, Arthur Weasley.” His drawling tone was filled with contempt .

“Lucius,” Mr Weasley replied coldly.

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” Lucius continued. “All those raids, I do hope they are paying you overtime.”

Lucius’ cold gaze scanned over the  gathered Weasley’s,  a judging cast to his eye that Harry had never seen before.

“Apparently not ,” he tutted. “Dear me, what is the use of being a disgrace to the name of Wizard if they will not even pay you well for it?”

Harry watched on as one would an accident happening in slow-motion before him. 

Mr Weasley flushed an angry red that clashed awfully  with the bright ginger of his hair.

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of Wizard, Malfoy,” Mr Weasley snapped.

“Clearly,” Lucius replied,  dragging his pale gaze up and down the  smaller wizard trembling in anger before him .  “Such a shame,  I thought your family could sink no lower–”

Harry gasped loudly as Mr Weasley launched himself at Lucius , catching the taller man by surprise with his Muggle brawling tactics .

Fear paralysed Harry as memories flashed before his eyes, a meaty fist hammering through the air, fingers knotted in his hair . Through the haze of memories Harry could just about hear Draco’s joyous yells of encouragement , egging his father on and hissing derogatory phrases at the Weasley’s.

The pair froze, Mr Weasley underneath Lucius, who was merely holding the  red-head down with one hand as the other cuffed at his split lip.

“Enough!” Cassiopeia thundered. 

Cassiopeia was not a small woman, standing just shy of six foot, but she suddenly seemed bigger than the ginormous Hogwarts’ Groundskeeper. Her grey eyes blazed and with a quick wave of her hand, she pulled Lucius off Mr Weasley.

“I would thank you kindly,  _ Arthur _ ,” Cassiopeia snarled ferociously, “if you did not assault my husband like a common  hooligan!”

Mr Weasley  had a  black-eye , which was puffing shut under a cut on his eyebrow , but he still glared daggers at the Malfoy’s as Cassiopeia swept her family, Harry and Hermione out of the shop without another word.

By the time they stopped at the public  Floo , Harry was trembling and threw up on the cobblestones.

“Oh, Harry darling,” Cassiopeia  said as she immediately stepped over to him. “I am sorry you had to witness that. There has always been bad blood between the  Malfoys and the Weasleys .”

Harry nodded, feeling the calming influence of the witch washing over him.

“I think it would be best if we  Apparated home,” Lucius decided, his voice sounding a bit thick over the swollen lip Cassiopeia had not tended to in her haste to get them away from the bookshop. “Are you okay travelling home, Miss Granger?”

“Yes sir, my parents are waiting for me in Muggle London.”

*

17 th December 199 2

Harry had enjoyed the first term immeasurably . The fight Mr Weasley had started with Lucius, plus Harry being angry with Ron had tempered the enthusiasm in which Ron Weasley pursued their ‘friendship’.

He’d made the Slytherin Quidditch team  as  their youngest Seeker . Draco had also made the team as Chaser. They’d played their first match against Gryffindor  earlier in the month , the match ending extremely close as Harry was pushed off his broom, just missing the Snitch as he dropped from thirty foot in the air . Marcus Flint had been apoplectic with rage at the unfairness, Slytherin having scored  thirteen goals, leaving their apparent victory guaranteed.

The only downfall for Harry had been  Gilderoy Lockhart. The man was a buffoon and seemed more  intent o n his own appearance than  actually teaching them anything during their Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. And he’d vanished Harry’s bone s from his broken arm from his fall.

Also, the Chamber of Secrets had  been  opened, putting everyone on edge and casting  wary glances in the direction of every Slytherin. None of the Snakes dared travel in less than pairs ; several of the more brazen Gryffindors had already hexed lone Slytherin’s, declaring that they would find which of them were attacking the Muggle - born students .

A list had appeared in the Common Room the previous week to find out who would be staying at Hogwarts. Harry felt a lightness in him when Draco insisted that he needn’t put his name down for a few days. 

Harry was walking with Draco towards the Great Hall at eight o’clock, as it had been decided that a Duelling Club could be started.

“I wonder who’ll be teaching us?” Hermione began as soon as she joined them, pushing their way through the  crowd of students. “I heard  Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was younger.”

“Seriously Granger, if it was  Flitwick , it would have already been started. Not now, when that useless  tw –”

They didn’t discover what derogatory phrase Draco was about to use , because  Harry groaned at the sight of  Gilderoy Lockhart prancing up on to the stage , wearing deep plum - coloured robes accompanied by Severus Snape.

Hermione seemed a bit giddy as she stared rapturously up at the stage, hanging  off of Lockhart’s every word.

“Let me introduce my assistant Professor Snape,” Lockhart  grinned. “He has sportingly agreed to help with a short demonstration and has told me he knows a smidgen about duelling himself. ” Here Lockhart paused dramatically, the inane grin still plastered across his face. “Never fear, you’ll still have your Potions master when I’m through with him.  So no need to worry!”

Harry felt a sadistic kind of glee pulse through him as Snape’s lip began to curl into a trademark sneer. The glint in Snape’s eye made Harry wonder why the bumbling idiot was still smiling.

The pair on the stage turned to face one another and with a grandiose performance Lockhart bowed whilst Snape merely ducked his head shallowly.

Lockhart procrastinated and  dramatized the whole experience, explaining things as they went. Harry was thoroughly bored and just desperately waiting for Snape to  murder Lockhart if the glare being sent from the dark Slytherin was anything to go by.

Finally, Lockhart ceased his chatter and  in a split second, a deadly stillness settled over Snape before crying; “ Expelliarmus !”

Harry and Draco cheered, with quite a few other Slytherin boys, as a bright scarlet light shot out of the tip of Snape’s wand. Hermione, along with many of the girls, squealed in  concern.

Lockhart bounced to his feet and began  reeling off some  spiel about allowing Snape to Disarm him . But they were rapidly approaching the part of the evening most of the boys  in particular had joined up for. The duelling.

Lockhart and Snape went through the gathered students and split them off. Many pairings were different houses.

Harry felt disheartened when Snape paired Draco and Ron up, but felt somewhat better when he was partnered with Hermione.

And then everything went wrong .

Ron and Draco began to duel in earnest, as well as two  Second-Years could manage anyway. Hexes and jinxes were thrown and whilst Lockhart was screaming for them to stop, the rest of the Hall fell into disarray.

It took Snape to get things back under control and soon enough Lockhart attempted to regain control by pulling two students up onto the stage for a demonstration.  Ron and Draco stood scowling at opposite ends of the stage whilst Lockhart whispered in Ron’s ear, who was looking pale and unsure of himself. Draco sneered as Snape muttered in to his.

Draco raised his wand and shouted; “ Serpentsortia !”

The end of his wand  exploded and a long black snake shot out of it, falling heavily onto the floor.

The crowd backed away hastily, leaving Harry near the stage .

Snape moved forward to rid the platform of the  serpent but Lockhart charged in, determined to not allow Snape to show him up anymore.  He cast a spell, Harry assumed it was meant to disappear the snake, but instead it was launched up into the air and landed back on the stage with a smack.

The black serpent was angry, hissing  as it slithered towards the edge of the platform.

Straight towards a Hufflepuff boy Harry had seen about a few times.

Harry reacted instinctively, charging forward even though his stomach was roiling and his mouth almost dried with fear.

“Leave him!”

The snake relaxed instantly,  it’s eyes fixated on Harry.

There was an uproar as the Hufflepuff lost it, shouting at Harry . Harry glanced around, catching Snape’s eye, who was regarding him shrewdly . The muttering around the Hall sounded like angry bees as Harry stumbled back towards Draco.

“Come on ,” Draco snapped, dragging Harry from the Great Hall, which was comparatively easy as people shied away from the two.

Once they were out of ear shot, Hermione  barely managing to keep up, Draco shoved Harry into an  alcove .

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a  Parselmouth ?” he demanded, somewhat hurt.

“A what?”

“A  Parselmouth , you can talk to snakes!”

“Oh. Is that bad?”

Draco rolled his eyes at Hermione. “Does he have to be this dense?” he asked before turning back to Harry. “Do you know why our sigil is a snake?” He paused to allow Harry a moment to shake his head dumbly. Draco rolled his eyes at Hermione once more. “Because Salazar Slytherin is the most famous Parselmouth ever!”

Harry felt dumbstruck. He had the same gift as Salazar Slytherin himself. Words failed him as he looked at his two best friends in panic.

The Chamber was open for the first time in fifty years and Harry Potter had revealed himself as a  Parselmouth .

*

24 th December 1992

Harry felt the excitement coursing through him as he  knocked on Professor Snape’s office door.

Cassiopeia had assured him that the dour Potions Master was expecting him and had a  Floo connection to the Manor.

The door creaked open and Harry nervously entered.

“Sorry to disturb you sir,  Cassiopeia told me to be here at this time to use your  Floo . I hope it’s okay,” he murmured, keeping his eyes down.

“In you come, Potter. The  Floo powder is on the mantel.”

That was all Snape said to him before returning to  the papers on his desk.

Harry didn’t want to linger any longer than necessary so stepped to the fireplace, scooped a handful of powder and threw it within. O nce the flames had flared green, he stepped through, calling out ‘Malfoy Manor’ as he did.

Harry arrived in the Receiving Room and as he  was brushing the soot from his clothes , Daisy popped into existence.

“Mister Harry!” she exclaimed, delight evident in her elfin features. “Welcome, the Mistress and young Master are in the Solarium.”

The Elf moved towards the door, motioning for him to follow imperiously.

Harry followed behind her, a goofy grin lighting up his face as they moved through the still confusing hallways.

*

25 th December 1992

Harry woke up to a s hriek in his ear.

“Wake up Potter!”

He’d fallen asleep in Draco’s room, the ginormous four poster bed so big that it hadn’t felt like he was sharing it with anyone. But now, it was glaringly evident as Draco launched himself up.

“Hurry up! You don’t need to get dressed! Just get your slippers on and hurry up!”

Harry had never seen such delighted excitement on his  friends face. It was infectious and soon he was all in a  tizz trying to locate the soft dressing gown of his and his pair of slippers that  had a warming charm cast on them.

“Hurry up!”

Harry stumbled from the bedroom to see an impatient Draco half out of the room already, his hair still mussed from sleep . 

“I’m coming,” Harry muttered blearily.

Draco dragged Harry through the hallways, down staircases and along corridors taking confusing shortcuts through rooms he had never seen before until they arrived at the very familiar Solarium.

The weak winter sun was already warming the room, bathing it in a golden glow.

A Christmas tree stood in the corner proudly, decorated by  Lucius, Cassiopeia and Draco at the beginning of the holidays. Harry looked fondly at  a collection of decorations that stood out and proud on the branches.

A glorious Occamy frolicked with a Griffin, moving slowly and playfully with one another. A haughty peacock, which Harry had found out Draco had given his father one year as a joke, was stuffed a bit further back. A dragon leapt from branch to branch, hissing and spitting tiny belches of fire.

Harry had found out that the  Occamy was Cassiopeia’s, the Griffin Lucius’ and the dragon, as was fitting, Draco’s.

“Sit, my darlings,” Cassiopeia’s warm voice commanded softly. She sat curled with her feet tucked underneath her against Lucius , who was reading the Prophet.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder if the wizard ever  did anything but read the paper.

He curled himself up into a cosy armchair and blinked blearily.

“I suppose Draco woke you up,” Lucius rumbled, peering at the raven-haired boy over the top of his paper.

Harry grinned as Draco began coughing and spluttering.

“Draco was told he could not have any presents until you were awake, dear,” Cassiopeia  added and Harry watched the blush suffuse Draco’s face.

“It’s fine,  I was pretty much awake anyway,” Harry said.

Once he’d regained control of himself, Draco looked between his parents hopefully.

“Yes, go grab some presents.”

It was said with a sigh as Cassiopeia pulled herself away from the comfort of her husband and watched with obvious joy and love as her step-son scurried towards the tree and gathered as many presents in his arms as he could manage.

He made several trips and Harry’s surprise grew as his own modest pile of presents did as well.

“Well?” Cassiopeia said kindly, when Draco sat wriggling and staring at her intently. At that one word, he launched into tearing wrapping paper off.

Harry was much more methodical as he read the tag before opening the wrappings with care.

Hermione’s gift, ever practical, was a luxury eagle-feather quill . He smiled softly at the extravagance of the gift. Draco’s was a broom care kit.

Harry’s heart swelled when he saw a rather large gift from the Malfoy’s. He peeled back the paper to reveal a  dark blue, almost black, winter coat. The fabric was thick and heavy when he picked it up.  As he was folding it back up after thanking Cassiopeia and Lucius for the gift, he felt something strange in the pocket.

Upon investigation, it was a small box with a green bow. When he popped off the lid, he felt a lump form in his throat. A  Hippogriff looked up at him sternly,  it’s orange eyes glaring at him.

“Put it on the tree Harry,” Lucius said, his voice a deep growl .

He was so overcome with happiness and joy that he completely forgot about the present wrapped in brown paper that had no label attached.

Harry launched himself at the tree and  coaxed the Hippogriff onto a branch. He watched on in amazement as the Hippogriff squawked as the Dragon launched itself at it, the two engaging in a  miniature battle.

“Who’s this from?” Draco asked, pointing at the plain parcel.

Harry shrugged. “I’ve had a gift for Christmas last year and my birthday this year that was wrapped exactly the same, with no note.”

He  sat on the floor to pull it on to his lap. The parcel felt solid, as had the previous two. When he unwrapped it, it revealed a shallow  box. Within the box was a stack of new photos of his parents.

“Every gift has had something to do with m y parents.”

He gazed down at the photos, watching as his parents danced, or played with Harry. The handsome man from their wedding photo was in a lot of them but sometimes there was the glimpse of black clothing at the edge of the frame.

One even contained a younger Cassiopeia, beaming at the camera as she squashed her face against Harry’ s, although Harry didn’t immediately recognise the much younger woman as the regal Lady sat opposite him.

“This has been the best Christmas ever.”

*

7th February 1993

Harry was enjoying a quiet moment alone. 

He’d woken from a nightmare and been unable to resettle and go back to sleep even with the calming presence of  Ailuros , so he’d slipped on a pair of  baggy , yet comfortable, jeans and a thick knitted jumper.

His feet had led him towards the second  floor and he was heading towards the site of the first Petrification without minding where he was going when he heard sobs echoing out of the bathroom just ahead of him.

Concern thrummed through him ; he’d heard similar pained noises coming from himself in the  past but he stuttered to a halt at the sight of the door to the  girls bathroom.

He gulped, unsure what to do.

A part of him wanted to charge in and see what  was the matter , but then the other part of him wanted to run away and never look back. He did  _ not _ want to be caught either entering or leaving a  _ girls _ toilet.

Harry dithered for long minutes until  his hand  moved of its own accord and pushed the door open.

“Hello?” he called stepping forward, only to splash into clean water.

“Go away!” a querulous, high pitched voice shrieked.

Harry didn’t let it deter him, forging onwards as the water on the floor soaked up into the cuff of his jeans.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Who’s that?” the girlish voice asked, misery thick in their voice. “Come to throw something else at me?”

“I’m Harry Potter, what’s your name?” Harry replied as he headed towards where the voice had originated. “Why would I throw something at you?”

“Don’t ask me!” the voice screeched and  finally emerged. Through the cubicle wall.

Harry had to refrain a gasp. “Hello, Myrtle,” he said, tempering the impending tirade he could see building in the gloomy ghost. “Who’s throwing stuff at you?”

“How would I know! I was minding my own business , sitting in the u-bend thinking about death when  it fell through my head.” The bespectacled ghost suddenly stopped and lunged closer to Harry, peering at him in a near-sighted way. “Did you say you’re Harry Potter?”

Harry nodded .

“ Oh how lovely!” Myrtle crooned, tucking her ghostly hands underneath her chin, head titled in a coy way.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Harry said, backing up slowly until his heel landed on something other than water-logged tile.

“That’s what they threw at me,” Myrtle moaned, her flirtatious manner disappearing in the blink of an eye.

Just then a bell chimed softly through the castle to announce that breakfast was being served.

“Anyway, I hope no one else throws anything at you .”

With that, Harry scarpered, tucking the soggy book into his pocket as he dashed out before anyone could catch him leaving the girls toilet.

*

14 th February 1993

Valentine’s day arrived and it was atrocious.

Gilderoy Lockhart, the blithering idiot, had turned the Great Hall pink with  balloons and floating confetti.

The only up-side was that it was a Sunday. A gloriously quiet Sunday.

So Harry did as most of the Slytherins were  doing: hiding.

He sat in his  bed and pulled the  diary towards him.

On the first page was a name, written in a tight, neat cursive; T. M. Riddle. It was the only ink marring the whole of the journal and Harry wondered on that.

Experimentally, he pulled a quill and  inkpot from his bag and  loaded up his quill, allowing the ink to drop onto the page. The ink shone brightly for a moment and then vanished .

Without further thought, Harry began writing.

_ My name is Harry Potter. _

The words remained on the page for a hairs breadth and then disappeared without a trace.

**_ Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary? _ **

_ Someone tried to flush it down a toilet, _ he scribbled back honestly and then wondered if Tom would be offended that someone tried to destroy his belonging in  such a manner.

**_ Lucky for me that I recorded my memories in a way  _ ** **_ much more lasting than ink. _ **

_ What do you mean? _ Harry wrote hastily, intrigue and excitement spurring him on.

**_ I mean that this diary holds memories. Memories of my time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. _ **

_ That’s where I am now _ _. I am at Hogwarts now. _ Harry paused, his heart thundering in his chest. The diary was old, could it be Tom had been at Hogwarts when the Chamber was last opened?  _ Have you ever heard of the Chamber of Secrets? _

**_ Yes, I have. It was opened in my Fifth year there. _ ** There was no tone, but Harry got the feeling of wry amusement.

_ Do you know what’s housed inside? _ He paused.  _ The school is adamant I am the Heir of Slytherin because I am a  _ _ Parselmouth _ _.  _ _ And I hav _ _ e heard a voice in the walls. _

There was a long delay between Harry’s words disappearing and a reply surging up. Harry had almost given up on receiving a reply when ink  reappeared. 

**_ Tell me more. _ **

Harry recounted what had happened at the Duelling Club and how he’d protected the Muggle-born Hufflepuff from the  snake. And how he’d heard a hissing, sibilant voice in the walls claiming it was hungry.

**_ Very interesting. Whilst I am certain you are not the Heir of Slytherin, you may well be related to him.  _ ** The words took on an air of pomposity with the next sentence.  **_ Most Pureblood families are distantly related, you know. _ **

_ Is being a  _ _ Parselmouth _ _ so very rare then? _

**_ Yes. The last known family were the Gaunt _ ** **_ ’s _ ** **_. _ ** **_ They never spoke English. _ **

Harry paused and pondered what he wanted to say next. He could feel a pleasant thrumming through his body as he conversed with the invisible owner of the diary. He didn’t want to stop the  conversation but could not think of anything else to say.

**_ Tell me about yourself, Harry. _ **

Harry suddenly felt shy, but persevered, purely to continue experiencing the contentment the conversation was washing him in.

_ I’m twelve, I’ll turn thirteen on July 31 _ _ st _ _. I am a Half-Blood _ _ orphan. _

**_ What happened to your parents? _ **

_ They were killed by a Dark Wizard called Voldemort. _

There was a substantial pause.  **_ Interesting. What do you know of this Voldemort? _ **

_ Nothing much. Headmaster Dumbledore insists he was a Dark Wizard and that something drew him to my family. He murdered my parents and apparently tried to kill me _ _ … _ _ but failed _ _. _

**_ Do you have a curse scar? _ **

_ No, not a single scratch from the incident.  _ _ Just the scars left by my mother’s family, who I was abandoned with the night my parents were killed. _

Harry stared at the words horrified, desperate to wipe them from the page. But the page had already sucked them in.

**_ Excuse me?  _ **

**_ Albus Dumbledore has yet to learn from his mistakes it appears. _ **

_ What do you mean? _

**_ I have never told anyone this before, however, something is telling me I can trust you. My mother died during childbirth and I was left in an orphanage in London. I was beaten and picked on because I was different. My magic manifested from a young age. Dumbledore was Transfiguration professor in my  _ ** **_ time _ ** **_ and he was the one who visited me to tell me I was a wizard.  _ **

**_ Dumbledore turned a blind eye to the abuse and insisted I return to the awful place every summer. As soon as I was old enough, I began working _ ** **_ and rented a tiny room above the shop. I vowed that the Mu _ ** **_ ggle _ ** **_ s would never treat our kind in such a manner again. _ **

Harry started at the words as they swam across the page. Hope filled him. If Tom Riddle could manage to escape his abusers, even when Dumbledore did nothing to help him, then maybe there was a chance for him too.

_ I’m sorry that you were treated in such a way. Dumbledore pretends everything is for a noble reason, but I cannot trust him as others do. _

**_ You are a wise young man, Harry Potter. _ **

_ Tom, could you tell me more about the Chamber of Secrets? _

There was a feeling of chuckling as Tom’s handwriting appeared.  **_ Of course. It was opened, as I said, in my Fifth year. A  _ ** **_ Ravenclaw  _ ** **_ girl was killed _ ** **_ before the Chamber was sealed again.  _ ** Harry read the words in horror.  **_ She died in the second _ ** **_ - _ ** **_ floor  _ ** **_ girls _ ** **_ lavatory.  _ **

_ Was her name Myrtle? _ Harry hastily scrawled, thinking it was too much of a coincidence.

**_ I do not recall fully but that does sound right.  _ **

_ Sorry Tom, but I need to go. I have homework to do. _

Harry slammed the diary shut before the words had the chance to fully sink into the paper as Draco barged in .

*

8th May 1993

Harry’s world had been turned upside down .

Not only had someone stolen the diary from his bag a few weeks ago but  Hermione Granger had been attacked by the Monster of Slytherin and now resided in the Hospital Wing petrified alongside the others.

He struggled to focus on his work as his mind drifted to his best friend. He missed conversing with Tom and the calmness that settled over his mind. Instead, he was in turmoil. 

He couldn’t even fly to take his mind off things.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but no one’s allowed in the Hospital Wing, I asked Uncle,” Draco’s solemn voice broke through his reverie.

Harry blinked owlishly at his  other best friend. “It’s okay, thanks for asking.”

“No one believes you’re the Heir anymore, if that’s any consolation.”

Harry shook his head morosely.

Draco was right about that barring one person.

*

29th May 1993

“You’re my friend! It’s the least you can do after that bastard attacked my dad!” Ron snarled.

“Piss off Ron!” Harry snapped back, anger flooding through him. “Your dad attacked Lucius, not the other way around.”

“Oh, Lucius is it. All pally and chummy with the Sacred Twenty-Eight families now?” Ron  taunted. “The Weasley’s not good enough for you anymore?”

“No! You were never good enough for me, you have never been my friend,” Harry whispered. “If you were my friend, you wouldn’t force me to  go to the Chamber of Secrets.”

“MY SISTER IS DOWN THERE DYING!” Ron screamed.

Harry flinched back at the rage in the older boy’s voice.

“Yeah, well, I don’t fancy dying for someone who doesn’t care about me,” Harry muttered .

The cry of pain left his body, shocked and confused, as he landed on his arse. Ron  shook his fist in a discomfited way.

“You’re useless, you know that? You couldn’t even manage to get sorted into the right House!” Weasley spat aggressively as he towered over Harry’s cringing form.

“What’s going on here? Brawling like Muggles? Ten points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be glad you’ve not got a detention as well.” 

The sound of Snape’s drawling voice startled the Gryffindor, making him step back hurriedly but Harry couldn’t tear his eyes from the  red-head , still mentally replaying the way the taller boy had hit him and then towered over him.

“Weasley, I suggest you go to the Headmaster’s Office.”

Harry could hear footsteps running away from where he  was and he barely refrained a scream as he flinched away from the dark-eyed Potions Master as he crouched before him.

“Calm down, Potter,” Snape said. His voice was soft, level and a calming cadence. Not the usual irritated bark Harry was used to. “I need to mend the break in your nose.”

Harry finally met Snape’s dark gaze, feeling some of the fear seep from him. But panic soon replaced it as he realised that the snuffling was coming from him and he couldn’t breathe properly.

Harry walked through the corridors, a now common occurrence when he needed to clear his mind. He couldn’t believe that Ron had attacked him but told himself derisively that he shouldn’t have been surprised.

The boy had never truly been friendly to Harry and the way the words had fallen from the  red-heads mouth implied that he had been thinking in such a way for a while.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that  he didn’t notice the body dart out of a  doorway. 

Harry kicked and tried to scream as a  hand clamped over his mouth.

As soon as that meaty palm blocked his airways, Harry stilled. Panic flooded through him as another hand muffled his cries.

“Listen, and listen carefully,” a voice hissed into his ear, breath curling damply over his skin. “You’re going to lead me down to the Chamber of Secrets and we’re going to discover what the monster within is. Once you’ve  lead me to your creature, I shall gather what I need and retire a rich, world famous wizard.”

As the palm, which had grown clammier with every passing second, slowly released its almost-suffocating grip on his face, Harry felt the hard tip of a wand press into his lower ribs.

Harry could only nod. His pulse was racing in his throat as he stepped shakily forward and headed towards Myrtle’s bathroom.

Once within, he stepped up to the sink  that Myrtle had pointed out.

“I knew you were the one,”  Gilderoy Lockhart crowed in delight.

Harry peered at the sink, one of the taps had a  crude carving of a snake on its side.

“Open,” Harry commanded and knew from the gasp behind him that the word had been in  Parseltongue .

The sink scraped and ground against something as it shifted, revealing a long, dark and dank tunnel.

“In you go,” Lockhart commanded, a brief jab to Harry’s side.

The pair descended, Harry kept  no further than an arms-length away and began traipsing through the warren of pipes, ignoring any of the smaller offshoots.

After a short while, they came across a huge  snake-skin .  There were hints of a vivid green colour as the shed skin wound.

“I think this is perfect,” Lockhart jeered. “Think this is where our partnership ends. I shall take the skin back up to the school and tell them I was too late to save the girl. Such a pity. And dear, caring Harry Potter went mad at the sight of her mangled body.”

Lockhart shoved Harry further away from him and lifted the wand up. “ Obliviate !”

Harry reacted on gut instinct, diving to one side as  magic burst from him. A pearlescent bubble had encapsulated him, which in turn had caused Lockhart’s spell to rebound and hit him full force. It rendered the professor unconscious as he sprawled across the grimy floor.

Harry sighed, he stared at the prone Defence Professor, a flash of concern at what the backlash of magic had done to the fool but then shrugged it off. It was hardly  _ his _ fault if the moron had attacked  _ him _ and ended up worse for wear!

He tried to head back up to the school, seeking out Professor Snape was the main priority  clammering in the back of his mind, when he and then felt something pulling him onwards. when all he wanted to do was  return back up to the school and seek out Professor Snape. He groused internally, seeking safety was  definitely the better option but he could  _ not _ ignore that insistent tug at his consciousness.

He walked on, dragging his heels in an obscure attempt at rebellion, descending deeper into the bedrock under the Castle, opening gates as he went in  Parseltongue until he entered a dimly lit chamber. 

Everything about the chamber screamed stereotypical Slytherin. Snakes wound around columns and were etched into the tiles underfoot. There was a massive statue of who Harry guessed must be Salazar Slytherin himself. An ancient looking creature that resembled, if Harry was being honest to himself, something of a monkey.

At Slytherin’s feet was a black-robed figure with blazing red hair. 

Harry walked up to her and nudged the unconscious girl with the toe of his trainer. The  red-head lolled back after his touch, not a single flicker of reaction. Harry stared at her for several heartbeats, wondering what on earth he was meant to do with her. She was almost as tall as him and was  definitely heavier . 

“She won’t wake, you know,” a soft voice informed him. 

Harry jumped and turned quickly towards the  speakering . 

A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching disinterested. 

“Tom?” 

“Yes, Harry, at last we meet.” 

Harry shook his head in confusion. “But… how?” 

“The diary preserved the memory of me for fifty years, to return at a time when my real body was too weak and on the brink of death,” Tom said nonchalantly. 

“Are you the Heir of Slytherin?” Harry asked. 

Tom smiled. It was dazzling and handsome and struck Harry somewhere deep in his gut. 

“Yes Harry, I am.” 

Harry’s curiosity reared its head. “What is the monster in here?”

A delighted smile twisted Tom’s handsome features. Pearly-white teeth sat out in stark relief to his sun-kissed skin.

“It’s a basilisk, do you know what one is?” Tom asked, the animation of his features bringing him to life in a way Harry had not seen before. Harry could only shake his head. “It’s a wonderful thing, a creature created by the Dark! They’re the Serpent King, even though my beauty is a female, and she’s the only known one in existence. My forebear, Salazar himself, placed her in a deep sleep allowing her to live for this long.”

Tom had begun to pace, gesticulating wildly as Harry watched the hypnotising motion of his long-fingered hands.

“Would you like to meet her?” there was genuine excitement in his voice as he asked the question, causing Harry to startle.

“Won’t I end up like the others?” Harry asked and stared when Tom began to chuckle.

“No Harry, you won’t end up Petrified. Although they were lucky that they saw her gaze second-hand. Really, they should have ended up dead.”

Harry’s jaw swung, the implications surging up in disbelief.

“Why would you do this?” Harry couldn’t stop the pain from entering his voice, which caused Tom to frown. “You could have killed my best friend.” 

“Your best friend is a  Mudblood ?” The word was said with zero inflection. 

“Yes, Tom. And so was my mother.” 

Tom paused, appearing to be thinking hard and quickly. 

“Did you want to meet her or not?” Tom demanded, apparently unable to respond to Harry’s questions.

Harry let out a high-pitched noise, somewhere between a scream of exasperation and a sigh of resignation.

“You don’t understand remorse, do you?” Harry asked after a pregnant pause.

“How can I? I am a memory; my function was to release the Basilisk if such an opportunity arose and to act as a failsafe if my physical body was harmed.”

Harry was conflicted. He was drawn to Tom in a way he had  _ never _ experienced. A satisfying feeling of being complete flooded through him, but he couldn’t fathom why it had occurred. An overwhelming sensation of safety that he’d never experienced even with the Malfoy’s. It all had Tom Riddle in the centre of the phenomenon.

“Okay, but I’m still not sure it should continue to live in the school. What if someone else comes along and lets it out?”

Tom tittered,  actually tittered in the way Harry had only ever heard  _ girls _ do, a coy giggle. “Harry, I am the  _ Heir of Slytherin! _ Unless I reproduced, which I can assure you was never in my plans, there is  _ no one else!” _

Harry sighed. He kind of got the impression that Tom had little to no morals and was maybe more than a little bit mad. And he decided, in his own moment of madness, to humour the ‘memory’.

Tom began hissing, calling and crooning for the Basilisk to awaken.

There was movement, deep from the shadowed depths of the chamber and Harry almost screamed.

The serpent was massive. Easily wider than Hagrid and it seemed to go on for  _ miles _ . Harry could not comprehend the sheer size of the snake when it fi it appeared. The head of the snake was almost as tall as Hagrid by itself.

The Basilisk slithered through and halted next to Tom, looking at him expectantly before turning its regard on Harry.

And Harry stayed standing. 

He wasn’t suddenly struck dead or Petrified.

“Hmm, that’s strange,” Tom said conversationally. “Are you sure you’ve not got any relation to Slytherin?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “He lived a thousand years ago, how am I meant to know?” Harry couldn’t prevent the  snark from entering his voice. “Although I am a Slytherin and I  _ am _ a  Parselmouth .”

The Basilisk spoke, an archaic tongue that Harry struggled to translate even though he was a  Parselmouth .

“She says you feel familiar, not of her  Master’s direct blood, but you are... kin?” Tom sounded as confused as Harry felt.

“What the hell does that mean?” Harry demanded but apparently the Basilisk had had enough, hissing at Tom before returning to whatever depths she had appeared from.

Tom just shrugged. “She says there’s a connection between us.”

Harry couldn’t figure a response to that and  accidently trod on the Weasley’s hand, recalling to him  _ why  _ he was down here in the first place.

“The Weasley’s are  Purebloods , why would you harm a Pureblood?” Harry asked, pressing  Tommanaging to surprise Tom with the sudden resurgence of their previous conversation. 

“They are Blood-Traitors.” an uncaring shrug lifting his shoulders.

“You yourself are a Half-Blood, are you not?” 

That caused the muscle in Tom’s jaw to pulse and flex furiously. 

“Tom, please. Stop this madness. Let the Weasley go.” He paused and something possessed him to add; “Tell me how to help you.” 

Something in Harry’s voice seemed to have struck a chord with Tom. “Take my diary with you, make sure Dumbledore never finds it. Put it in your Vault. You will know when it’s time to retrieve it.” 

That was all the cryptic advice Tom imparted, promptly fading like a forgotten memory until the youngest Weasley stirred. Harry felt a moment of loss as Tom disappeared without a farewell, but his attention was pulled to the Weasley who had promptly begun crying.

The return journey was silent. Harry felt the strange looks Weasley shot him with some regularity. They gathered up a groggy Lockhart and climbed a set of stairs that had been hidden in the shadow until they emerged in Myrtle’s bathroom once more. 

As they left the bathroom and headed in the direction of the Hospital Wing, Harry slammed to a halt at the sight of several bodies gathered at the bottom of the stairs. 

“Lucius,” he whispered and as though the aristocrat heard him, Lucius turned slowly. 

Worry and anxiety had caused the tiniest of creases between his brows, which relaxed slightly at the sight of Harry. 

Harry abandoned Weasley and Lockhart to launch himself down the stairs and into Lucius’ arms. 

Lucius scooped him up and they were moving immediately. 

“I will get that man sacked if it’s the last thing I do,” Lucius snarled above Harry’s head, where it was tucked into his cravat. 

“Careful, Lucius. He is not an enemy you would like to make,” the drawling baritone of Severus Snape replied. 

Harry ignored the rest of their conversation, instead just revelling in the feeling of safety he had not experienced since talking to Tom Riddle in his diary.

*

31 st July 1993

He tried to open his eyes… but couldn’t.

He tried to li ft his arms, move his legs… but his limbs felt like a deadweight.

He  tried to remember who he was… but struggled.

All he could do, was think. Remember. Recall.

Feel.

A momentary burst of joy ripped through him, the smell of smoke and sickly-sweet frosting delighting his starved senses.

He settled down and waited.

/*\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Tom is different. Lucius is *very* different.  
> Let me know what you think ^_^
> 
> Ron, I've used the Ron we're introduced to when he wears the locket as inspiration. This isn't a Ron-bashing fic btw, I'm just not overfond of him and believe if things had been different, that he would have taken the role of Draco in the story.
> 
> Anyway, hope you're enjoying the read.  
> Please let me know if you believe that tags aren't adequate enough and I'll amend them.
> 
> Any feedback would be gratefully received and kudos are a wonderful sight in my inbox.
> 
> Take care and I'll try to get the next chapter written and edited ASAP.


	4. Chapter Three - Hippogriffs and Madmen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a change of heart as to how this fic was progressing. Which meant I had to do a complete re-write of what I had started for my version of Prisoner of Azkaban's events.  
> Unlike the previous two, PoA completely run away from me and will be done over three instalments.  
> Anyway, Part 1, only slightly off schedule, but it has now been proof-read and edited.  
> Hopefully Part 2 won't be too long in following.
> 
> Enjoy :)

Part 1: Boggarts and Hippogriff Bonds 

1st September 1993 

Harry glanced over at his best friend, secretly glad that she hadn’t been able to go to France for her usual holiday. For the first time, he had company making his way through Muggle Kings Cross and on to platform nine and three quarters. 

They left their trunks with the rest to be loaded onto the train and wound their way through the thronging masses towards the large building designated for Floo travel, knowing that was where they would find the third member of their little group. 

He slowed just shy of the family, taking in the familiar faces, a genuine smile rippling across his features as he did. 

Draco stood next to his father, looking resplendent in his wizarding robes. Platinum hair cut neatly to his thin, angular face. He stood just taller than Harry but was dwarfed by the wizard towering over him. 

Lucius Malfoy was as imposing to a thirteen-year-old as he had been to eleven-year-old Harry. His aquamarine gaze was arctic as ever, scanning the thronging mass. A sneer rippled his lips as he absentmindedly charmed the soot from his dark robes. 

The woman stood next to him was beautiful. Her wavy dark hair never seemed to be as perfectly coiffed as the other Pureblood mothers’, but Harry thought it made her even more beautiful. Her mercurial gaze was dancing with mirth until a flash of anger scorched across her alabaster face. 

“A word, Harry,” she commanded and immediately grabbed a hold of his upper arm in a firm, but not painful, grip, hauling him towards a private room. She promptly warded it, shutting the door hard on the quizzical look her husband was giving him. “What have they done this time?” 

Harry gulped. 

He’d never been able to hide anything from Cassiopeia Malfoy nee Black. If he was truthful with himself, he never actually wanted too. Something about the Lady Malfoy drew Harry, made him want to open up to her in ways he had never contemplated. She’d known the first moment that she had lain eyes upon him that there was something wrong. 

“The usual,” Harry said, attempting at nonchalance but his voice broke, betraying him as his eyes burned. He kept his gaze trained on his hands, where they’d worked their way into a twisted knot within his over-sized hoody. He could not bring himself to watch the barrage of emotions that would flash over Cassiopeia’s face. 

“I’ve had enough of this! How can anyone believe sending a child back to an abusive household is good for them?” 

Harry flinched instinctively. Even though the venom in Cassiopeia’s words were not directed at him, he couldn’t stop his body’s reaction in preparing itself for a blow. 

Just like he had received a few weeks ago, just before Marge had arrived. 

That had been horrendous. Harry could still feel the echoes of pain through his jaw and knee. He suspected that there was a hint of a bruise left on the hinge of his jaw that clued Cassiopeia in that something had happened even though he’d used the bruise paste he’d liberated from the Hospital Wing as often as he could. 

The tears he’d been fighting since having to return to Privet Drive forced their way out. His cheeks flared with embarrassment; he was too old to be crying like a baby at thirteen. But the gentle way Cassiopeia had pulled him to her lean body had broken his resolve. 

“Hush, my love, it’s okay. I promise it will be okay.” 

It made Harry sob harder into the witch’s robes, soaking the expensive material as she dropped down onto one knee to pull him into the tightest embrace she could manage. His nose pressed uncomfortably into her collarbone even as the subtle scent of elderflower washed over him, assisting in easing his tears as it calmed him. 

“It won’t,” Harry muttered into the fur collar of her cloak. “Dumbledore said I have to stay there at least the Summer holidays for the enchantment to work.” 

He could feel the way Cassiopeia’s body tensed as his words reached her ears. 

Harry hated Dumbledore for making him go back to the Muggle’s every year. Back to being beaten and starved every summer holiday with no reprieve. It was the longest and hardest eight weeks of his life, especially once Hermione went on her usual family holiday abroad, and the Malfoy’s had their own obligations to fulfil throughout the Summer period. 

“Shall we join the others?” Cassiopeia’s voice rumbled into the silence that hadn’t been broken by small hiccoughing sobs in over a minute. He nodded against her robes, unable to tear himself away from the comforting aroma elderflower and gooseberries. He took one last, deep breath and forced his fingers to release the grip he’d knotted into her cloak. 

He looked directly into the mesmerising silvery eyes and felt a strength settle over him like a weighted blanket as he nodded, wiping his oversized jumper across his eyes. 

Cassiopeia stood up to her full height and twined her fingers within Harry’s before leading him out of the now wardless room. 

Harry ran straight for his two best friends, ignoring the adults as they looked at each other in a pointed way that spoke volumes, especially once Lucius’ eyes hardened into chips of ice. Their hands drifted to forearms before Cassiopeia rested her hand daintily within the crook of Lucius’ elbow. 

“C’mon,” Draco hissed, “I need to tell you two something.” 

“Is it about Black? You mentioned something in your letter,” Harry demanded, his young mind salivating at the thought of finding out about the mysterious madman that was dangerous enough to make it on to Muggle news channels, both peering through carriage windows in an attempt to spy an empty compartment. 

“Bye Mr and Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione said, ever shy around the imposing Purebloods. 

Harry darted back to Cassiopeia and gave her one final hug then quickly shook hands with Lucius, returning to Hermione’s side absent-mindedly and his previous mission of locating an empty compartment. 

“Bye Father, Mum,” Draco added, kissing his stepmother on the cheek before nodding sharply to his father. 

The trio eventually found an empty carriage, an unusually arduous task as every single compartment was full aside from one they’d discovered at the end of the train. Ordinarily, they would have joined with others of their year, but Draco had shaken his head when it was suggested by Hermione. The action had caused Harry’s curiosity to soar, the lapse with Cassiopeia thrust fully away from his mind. 

“Eurgh, since when are tramps allowed on the Express?” Draco demanded in all his Pureblood pomposity. 

They had never seen an adult on the train apart from the Trolly Lady, usually it was reserved for students to travel. Adults, Harry guessed, typically travelled either via the Floo Network or Apparation. 

“He’s not a tramp, Draco, he’s a professor.” Hermione rolled her eyes as she carefully shut the sliding door. 

Harry, however, couldn’t help concurring with Draco’s initial assessment. The stranger was wearing extremely shabby, and out of date, wizard robes covered in patches that looked to have been done by the wizard himself. He looked ill and washed out, as though thoroughly exhausted and his hair was smattered heavily with grey amongst the sandy-brown. His face looked as though it would be marred heavily with lines when not relaxed in slumber, but even then, Harry detected a tension hovering over the other. 

“How’d you know that?” Harry asked once he’d dropped into a seat as far away as possible from the slumbering man, where he was wedged in the corner against the window. His head pressed against the cool glass and a battered travelling cloak draped clumsily over himself as though it had dropped at some point during his nap. 

“It’s on his case. _Professor R. J. Lupin_ ,” she read out matter-of-factly, pointing imperiously at a battered travel case above where the man slept. 

“Think he’s the new Defence professor?” Harry wondered aloud and immediately realised the question was stupid. There was only one vacancy, and that meant they had the joys of a new professor in Defence Against the Dark Arts for the third time in as many years. There were always whispers flying around the castle about how the position was cursed so that no one teacher could take the position for more than a year. So far, their first-year professor had gone insane and attacked Harry and the other had Obliviated himself, both landing themselves permanent stays in St. Mungo’s. 

Draco rolled his eyes at her before snorting inelegantly, ensuring the attention of the others were thoroughly upon him rather than the lightly snoring Professor Lupin. 

“Anyway, Sirius Black is my mum’s brother… Mum and Father don’t know I know, but I heard them talking about it one evening as they walked through Father’s rose garden together.” 

“Draco! Eavesdropping is rude,” Hermione immediately berated the platinum-haired youth, who in turn smiled mockingly at her. 

“You’re such a goody two shoes!” 

“How come you didn’t mention him when you were rambling through your family tree? What else do you know about him?” Harry demanded softly, cutting off the impending argument before it gained any momentum, not really wanting to focus on the fact that one of the most stable and reliant people in his world was related to a madman and a killer. 

But then he was no person to judge, given the family his mother had come from and he lived with. 

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. “Great-Aunt Walburga blew him off the Tapestry, claimed he was a Blood-Traitor.” Another shrug, before he added in a more serious manner; “He was the Potter’s Secret Keeper and he’s probably after you… or that’s what the rumours are saying in the Pureblood circles.” 

Harry felt as though his world had been flipped upside down. An icicle slithered down his spine as the implications roared their way through him. 

Sirius Black was the reason his parents were dead. Sirius Black was the man who had led Voldemort to Godric’s Hollow so the Dark Lord could kill Harry’s parents. 

“Draco, you idiot!” 

Sirius Black was coming to finish what the Dark Lord had started. 

He barely registered the sound of Hermione slapping Draco soundly and the ensuing back-and-forth bickering that went on at a low-level hiss between the pair. 

Instead, he stared unseeing out the window. Countryside, with its rolling meadows, had long ago taken over the built-up area of the London suburbs. Fields quilted together by hedgerow or low stonewalls, sequined by grazing cows or woolly sheep. 

Harry’s heart thundered in his chest as he wondered whether Sirius Black was truly after him. The only thing he knew for certain was that Sirius Black was a murderer and the only person to ever escape Azkaban. He’d even made it on to Muggle news, but it wasn’t until Harry had received his copy of the Prophet one morning that he found out what it was the madman had done to land himself in the Wizarding Prison. The wizarding paper had seemingly taken a morbid kind of delight in recapping the convict's crimes. 

But no one had seemingly known that Sirius Black was the Potter’s Secret Keeper... the Papers hadn’t at least. 

Harry struggled even now to comprehend how someone murdered thirteen people and stood in the decimated street, laughing maniacally as the Aurors cuffed him and he was summarily sentenced to imprisonment in Azkaban. 

He rubbed a hand over his face roughly, before raking it through his hair causing the shaggy locks to stand up in evermore wayward directions. How was a thirteen-year-old boy, orphaned and abandoned to the dubious care of the most despicable family on Earth, supposed to deal with the news that the man who had been the catalyst to said events was free and on the loose again. 

“But Headmaster Dumbledore has always said that You-Know-Who was finished.” 

The words drifted back to Harry, popping his melancholy mood. 

“I don’t think you should listen to everything Dumbledore says,” Harry sighed bitterly. He knew that the old man was the reason he was placed with the Dursleys, forced to grow up stunted and sheltered. Ever since he had been set up to go after the Philosophers Stone in their first year at Hogwarts, Harry had found an intense reluctance to place his trust in the seemingly innocuous wizard. 

A half memory that teased and taunted at the periphery of his mind, that nagging doubt filling him once more. Something was not as it seemed with the Hogwarts Headmaster, but he couldn’t coherently explain something he didn’t remotely understand himself. 

“Oh Harry, the Headmaster will keep us safe,” Hermione continued, her bossy voice filled with some strange emotion. A sense of desperation, desperation that was trying to convey itself as hope or confidence. 

Draco and Harry shared a look before snorting disbelievingly at each other, knowing that Hermione’s trust and faith in the Headmaster would have to be shattered in its own time. 

“Anyway, enough of that barmy old codger, did anything happen whilst you were with those Muggles?” Draco demanded, his voice turning harsh and ice-cold as his face twisted in disgust around the word… or rather the meaning behind the question. Draco knew some of his life at the Dursley’s, but not to the same extent as his mum. Harry didn’t really like keeping Draco, or Hermione for that matter, in the dark about his life, but the glimpses they had been exposed to already felt too much of a burden without knowing more. If the Lord and Lady Malfoy couldn’t do anything about it, what could two young teenagers do different? 

“Nothing out of the ordinary, really. I just had a bout of accidental magic and blew up Vernon’s sister like a big fat balloon.” 

“You what?!” Hermione screeched in disbelief before clamping her hand over her mouth, a careful look shot at the slumbering wizard tucked in the furthest corner. 

“Yeah. The bitch swelled up and floated away, it was fantastic.” Harry couldn’t stop the bitter laugh from welling up and flowing from between his lips. Too many weeks spread over the few years he’d been on the planet had spent being verbally ridiculed by the grotesque woman, terrorised by her vicious dog. He felt like Karma had truly bit her in the wobbly, wide arse as she deserved. “Grabbed my things, hauled my arse out of the house before Vernon could corner me to beat the living shit out of me and had my first experience of the Knight Bus.” 

A strange look flashed across Draco’s face. 

“I wish you’d tell Uncle; he’d be able to do something. Even if it meant overriding Dumbledore and Father using his sway at the Ministry.” 

Harry smiled softly at his friend. It was a familiar conversation, one that was rehashed every now and again ever since Draco had walked in on Harry shirtless. His back had had a clear boot-print bruised into it and there were distinct finger-marks around the base of his neck at the beginning of Second Year. 

“Maybe, Draco. Maybe.” 

The dismissiveness in Harry’s tone was strong enough that Draco’s eyes narrowed before changing the conversation. 

“At least we get the chance to get out of the grounds this year, should be a nice treat,” he added into the heavy silence. 

Hermione snapped up the new topic, spilling every single piece of trivia that she had read. Draco nodded or corrected some of the information, but it didn’t take long for him to begin to wax-lyrical about certain shops, primarily a sweet shop called Honeydukes. 

Harry unintentionally soured the mood, informing his friends that they would have to tell him all about it as his bout of accidental magic had meant his form was never signed. 

After a brief spell of floundering, Draco released Ailuros from her carrier, where the dark Kneazle instantly leapt onto Harry’s chest and comforted him. 

Hermione excitedly let her own ginger half-Kneazle from his carrier, proclaiming that her parents had finally caved. 

The compartment settled into a comfortable silence, broken only by contented purrs erupting from each feline and the rustle of pages being turned. 

* 

“I wish the Trolly Lady would hurry up, I’m hungry,” Draco moaned as he swayed dramatically in his seat. He’d just thrown his chess set back into his bag after beating Harry soundly for the third time in a row. “I also wish you were an actual challenge when it comes to Chess.” 

Harry smiled toothily as he punched his best friend on the arm lightly. “You’re such a dork.” 

“Talking of dorks,” Draco laughed, turning their attention to where Hermione sat engrossed in a book detailing a beginner's introduction to Arithmancy, Crookshanks still curled up in a massive ball in her lap. “Haven’t you memorised that whole thing yet Granger?” 

Hermione’s only indication that she had heard Draco’s barb was a slight deepening of the furrow lining her forehead. Her hand dropped down to sleek one of Ailuros’ ears through her fingers, the Kneazle had slunk off Harry once he’d calmed down and moved over to settle against Hermione’s hip. The two boys losing themselves in umpteen rounds of chess shortly afterwards. 

“She’ll never acknowledge you when she’s reading,” Harry said, rooting around in his bag for another game for the two to play, a fond smile directed towards the patch of dark that blinked emerald eyes back at him. 

“That’s a big word for you, isn’t it Potter?” 

Harry abandoned his search and launched himself at the blonde wizard. Soon enough they were rolling around on the floor, shouting and shrieking as they punched and tickled one another relentlessly. Braying laughter drowned out Hermione’s attempt to quell their rambunctiousness when Harry had pinned Draco, his hair a complete mess, jabbing his fingers into any ticklish spot he could find on the slightly bigger boy. 

A loud, snorting snore broke their horseplay abruptly and the pair stared at each other frozen before turning their scrutinising regard on the still sleeping professor. 

“What’s wrong with him that he slept through that?” Harry asked as he scootched on his bum to press his back against the seats, allowing a much clearer view of the sleeping man and realising in hindsight just how much noise they were making in the small compartment. 

“Dunno, at least we know Granger is just a massive swot,” Draco sniped only to yelp in mock-pain as a scrunched-up ball of parchment was slung at his head. 

“Maybe he’s ill,” Harry wondered out loud, peering intently at the stranger. 

Professor Lupin was bedraggled to say the least. Harry’s initial assessment hadn’t changed as he eyed the robes again, they were patchy and at least a decade out of fashion, not to mention frayed and faded. Most of his face was in shadow, but what Harry could make out his skin was pallid, and a patchy, scraggly beard littered his jawline. 

“Eurgh, don’t say that!” Draco screeched, hurriedly flinging himself in the seat furthest away from the object of their scrutiny, the lower half of his face covered dramatically with his sleeve. 

Luckily, Draco’s stomach growled, obscenely loud, into the silence. 

“Merlin, I’m starved,” he moaned once more his voice muffled by his clothes as he slowly forgot about the silent extra in the carriage. 

“How can you be hungry after all you ate off the trolly?” Harry demanded incredulously. 

“Why’s the train slowing?” Hermione demanded as her voice ratcheted up an octave. Her book was reverently placed beside her, where she promptly forgot about it, and stared wide-eyed at her two friends. The two Kneazles picked up the tension in the room and hissed at nothing. 

Harry looked out the window at the dark skies. Rain rattled off the windows, the thrumming growing as the train began to slow noticeably. The steady chug of the pistons died away as the howling of a fierce wind took its place. Unease settled in his gut, especially when Ailuros slunk back into her carrier with a low, hissing yowl. 

“It ain’t, it’s too early,” Draco scoffed. “I’m going to find the Trolly Lady.” 

He stood up, straightening his clothes pompously, and placed his hand on the brass knob, which was promptly released again as he barked out a strangled yelp. 

“Salazar, that’s freezing!” 

The train slammed to an abrupt halt just as the lights flickered, plunging the carriage momentarily in pitch-blackness. Draco screamed from pure fright and Harry swore loudly when his friend dropped into his lap, after crushing the hand he’d been leaning on the floor under his boot heel. 

“Merlin, Draco!” Harry exclaimed but he soon joined in expressing his fright when the lights went out fully and plunged the carriage into darkness, promptly forgetting the throbbing pain emanating from his hand. 

“Keep calm,” a voice scratchy from disuse said into the petrified quiet, eliciting several startled half-screams from the youngsters. 

A light erupted from the corner closest to the window. 

Harry swung his head around and saw more of the stranger's features, his eyes widening at the silvery scars bisecting the wizards face. Watery green eyes caught the wand-light and widened when they landed upon Harry. 

A chill entered the compartment, frost crackling its way along the glazing as everyone’s breath misted in front of their faces. 

“What’s going on?” Harry demanded, his voice shaking slightly. He tried to shove Draco off his lap, but the slightly older boy clung to him like a limpet. 

The eery silence dropped over the compartment like a lead weight. Each of the occupants shuddering as the feeling that they would never feel the smallest crumb of happiness again crept over them like a shroud. 

The heavy silence was broken by a bone-chilling, rattling breath. 

Terrified, wide-eyed gazes locked onto the darkening corridor, tiny whimpers of fright escaping on the exhale from someone, a rumbling yowl of warning crept from where the Kneazles’ carriers were. 

Something moved in the hallway, drawing everyone’s attention to the door. Eyes straining to pick anything out in the darkness, ears pricked for the smallest sound. 

When Harry’s senses finally did begin to pick something out from the deathly stillness, he desperately wished that everything would go back to silence. 

All vestiges of light were sucked into the approaching gloom until a skeletal hand separated itself from the abyss, easing the door open. 

It unfurled, something resembling a hooded head almost brushing the ceiling of the compartment as the tattered cloak hiding all but the hand from sight swept across the room, a strange wuffing noise coming from the depths of the hood. 

It was sensing. 

Seeking 

Tasting. 

Draco bolted from Harry’s lap, but the movement did not occupy the creature's attention. It continued its steady surveillance of the compartment until its regard weighed heavily upon Harry. 

Harry couldn’t draw breath. He couldn’t move an inch. He was immobile, powerless before the creature. 

His heart hammered against his ribs, a clammy sweat breaking out down his spine as he stared at the frightful creature before him. His breath ripped from his lungs as though he had just run a marathon: short, painful gasps. 

The sudden sound of sucking broke the silence, like the sound a plug suddenly free from a blockage sucks greedily at the water above it. 

Harry felt as though he was drowning and yet floating at the same time as darkness encroached upon his vision. Panic coursed through him at the sound of a woman’s screams breaking through the black. 

Screaming a name. 

_‘Harry!’_

Harry slowly blinked his eyes open and yelped when his vision was almost completely obscured by wide grey orbs. 

“Let him breathe!” a voice commanded sharply and the grey rescinded, bringing other features into sharper focus. A pointed, narrow nose; high cheekbones and finally, that signature silvery blonde hair. 

Once the face had moved from its previous position of swamping his vision, Harry realised that the lanterns were lit once more and the floor vibrated underneath him: The Express had resumed its journey North. He peered around and struggled to sit up, unsure as to why he was lying on the hard floor. He looked questioningly at Hermione and Draco, refusing to look at the bedraggled Professor, somewhat ashamed that someone else had witnessed his moment of weakness. He felt sick and scrubbed a hand over his sweaty face. 

“Here, eat this,” a rasping voice softly commanded as a large chunk of chocolate was thrust between his face and Draco’s. 

Harry focused on forcing his limbs to cooperate and take the proffered sweet, his eyebrows rising somewhat at the familiar Muggle brand stamped on the face. His nose twitched appreciatively at the mouth-watering aroma wafting from the chocolate as he finally managed to get his fingers to behave and clamp onto the sugary treat. 

“Wha- what happened?” he asked, his throat feeling unnaturally sore. “Why did a woman scream? Is she okay?” 

“What woman?” Hermione asked, her doe-eyes softening with a slight confusion. 

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat and his mouth abruptly felt drier than a desert. He had heard a woman screaming in fear, a fear that he had felt down to his bones as she screamed his name. 

“Dementors are foul creatures.” The professors voice snapped everyone’s attention towards him. The shabby wizard seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the sudden regard of three thirteen-year-olds and ducked his head before adding; “They should not be kept anywhere other than Azkaban Prison.” 

Lupin stared down at him where he still sat on the floor, a strange look upon his worn and weary face. His watery green eyes flickered across Harry’s face, searching for something until sadness washed over his features. 

“Eat the chocolate, it will help.” Lupin headed towards the door. He paused as though he would add something more but shook his head despondently before slinking away with hunched shoulders. Akin to a dog retreating with its tail tucked firmly between its legs. 

Harry finally began nibbling on the chocolate, not trusting his shivering body to support his weight to clamber up onto the seat and felt the comforting strokes of Hermione’s fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp. 

“What actually happened?” Harry asked into the tense silence. 

His eyes narrowed as Hermione and Draco shared a look, concern and worry bright in their young faces. Draco gave the most minute of headshakes, but Hermione’s face set in a stubborn scowl. 

“You fainted when the Dementor searched our carriage,” she said, her small nose scrunching up in distaste. A dainty hand rose imperiously to forestall his exclamation. “No, no one else fainted. But it was awful, it felt as though I would never manage a happy thought ever again.” 

Harry noticed then that both of his friends had smaller chunks of chocolate grasped between their fingers. 

“Honestly Potter, if that tramp hadn’t cast a Patronus-” 

Harry never found out what had driven the Dementor away because Draco suddenly had a mouthful of his own cloak when Hermione threw it at him. 

“Will you stop calling the professor a tramp!” Hermione squealed. 

Draco struggled free of the heavy, luxurious fabric. His hair had gone slightly static, and his face was flushed red. “What, Granger? You’re the one that regaled me with tales of the homeless in Muggle London last year. He seems to fit your description perfectly… bloody hell, even the Weasley’s dress slightly better than _he_ does and that is saying something.” 

Hermione vented a frustrated, high pitched shriek as her gaze darted wildly around the compartment as though in search of something heavier to launch at their arrogantly ignorant friend. 

“What’s a Patronus?” Harry asked, killing two birds with one stone with the perfectly timed question. He would find out some more of what had happened, all the while diverting Hermione’s attention from Draco. 

It worked instantly, she pulled herself up in a manner reminiscent of Professor McGonagall. Her knees were pressed together primly, her hands fluttering with excitement. 

“The Patronus Charm conjures a magical guardian, it is a projection of your most positive feelings,” Hermione informed him. True to her Ravenclaw nature, she had undoubtably read as much as she could over the summer holidays and thanks to her eidetic memory, she spewed forth everything that she had unearthed. “The Patronus Charm is a difficult piece of magic, but it is the primary protection against Dementors and Lethifolds. There are also two types of Patronuses, a corporeal manifestation with a particular shape and form as well as an incorporeal Patronus.” 

Harry cocked an eyebrow at his friend, causing a blush to erupt across the tops of her cheeks. 

The trio soon were side-tracked by discussing what animal they had an affinity with that their Patronus would take the form of. It soon became a screeching tussle on the floor when Harry told Draco his was guaranteed to take the form of one of his father’s prancing peacocks. 

The rest of their journey had been uneventful, with Lupin eventually returning to their compartment to inform them that they would be at Hogsmeade shortly. 

The frivolity of mere moments before dissipated as they grew serious, slowly changing from their comfortable clothes into their school uniform. 

“Do you think we’ll find Theo when we get off the train?” Draco asked hopefully as the train began to slow. 

“Sure, he normally appears just at the right time,” Harry assured his friend as they joined the rest of the students, Hagrid hollering for the First Years clearly audible over the cacophony as they pushed and shoved their way towards the exit of the station. 

“Did I hear right, Potter? Did you faint?” an obnoxious voice shouted over the hubbub of the milling crowd. 

“Fuck off, Weasel!” Draco snarled, shoving Harry forcefully in the small of the back to get him in the carriage as quickly as possible. 

Harry stumbled again, this time falling into the lap of Theodore Nott. 

“Alright Harry,” Theo said as though having the smaller, raven-haired boy in his lap was a common occurrence. His deeply tanned skin made his crystal blue eyes evermore startling as they regarded Harry brimming with laughter. His sandy hair had grown over the holidays so that his fringe flopped into his left eye, causing him to exhale sharply out of the corner of slightly chapped lips. The offending lock of hair floated upwards, to settle more on his cheek. “Good break?” 

Harry shut down instantly, flashes of pain flickering across his mind’s eye. His breath caught in his throat as the sensation of a foot crushing down on his knee overwhelmed him. 

And then a familiar sensation overrode it. The feel of fingers through his hair, nails scraping ticklishly across his scalp. 

“- We went to France. Father finally agreed to take Mum to the estate over there,” Draco was saying, having swiftly stepped in to cover his friends panic. 

“They’ve only been married seven years,” Theo added laughing in a familiar way. 

Neither boy acknowledged the fact that Lucius Malfoy and Cassiopeia Black had been having an affair for many years before Narcissa passed away. Harry had struggled with the concept, but soon accepted it when neither Pureblood boy had batted an eyelid after a casual comment had caused Harry to question it. 

He may have been exposed to the Wizarding World for the past couple of years, but that didn’t mean that he had anything remotely resembling a firm grasp on the nuances of Pureblood culture or evening magical culture overall. Every day spent around Draco or Theo, and sometimes Blaise, threw up new titbits of information that he could struggle to comprehend due to the vast differences in which it was regarded in the Muggle world and the Wizarding world. 

Harry smiled gratefully at both of his friends and soon joined in with the conversation, glossing over many of the weeks he’d been away from Hogwarts. Focussing only on the days he’d stayed at the Grangers house and the evenings and weekends spent with the Malfoys. 

As the carriage trundled towards the wrought-iron gates flanked by stone columns, upon which sat the familiar winged boars, everyone noticed above the gate floated two more Dementors. Harry shuddered as a wave of cold and sickness poured over him. The rest of the carriage grew quiet as they moved between the pair of hovering creatures. Draco forcefully restarted the conversation after a concerned look darted in Harry’s direction. 

The carriage picked up speed as it rolled along the smooth driveway, the road was slow and winding at a steady incline that didn’t seem to bother the magical vehicle they sat within. The conversation grew easier the further away they got from the gates until the carriage came to a soft halt. Everyone poured out of it. 

The air was cold as they strolled from the carriage into the antechamber, jostled by the swarming masses desperately trying to seek the promised warmth within. 

“See you later,” Harry said to Hermione once they were within the Great Hall and Hermione crushed him in a brief hug before running over to the Ravenclaw table to catch up with her housemates. 

“A word, Potter,” a deep; rumbling voice halted Harry in his tracks. 

Draco glanced back, concern in his eyes until he realised who had stopped Harry and continued into the Great Hall. 

“Professor?” 

“I heard you collapsed on the train, the Headmaster wants you to go see Madam Pomfrey,” Slytherin’s Head of House drawled sounding ever bored with the situation. 

“I’d rather not, if it’s all the same. The new professor gave me some chocolate and now I feel fine, sir,” Harry replied, finally looking up. 

Towering over him, dressed fully in black aside from the arctic white of his high-collared shirt, was Severus Snape. Harry gulped, breaking eye contact quickly. 

“At least he knows that much,” Snape muttered before shooing Harry away. “As your Head of House, it’s in my remit to remind you that if you feel unwell, you must go to the Hospital Wing.” 

And then he swung tightly on his heel, striding down between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables to the teacher's dais, where he sat staring moodily over the sea of heads next to Professor McGonagall. 

Harry let the breath he’d been holding out as a gusty sigh before making his way to the Slytherin table and slid in between Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. 

“How nervous is Astoria?” Harry asked the pretty, blonde-haired witch beside him. 

“Almost wetting herself,” Daphne sighed, rolling her hazel eyes in mock-exasperation. 

The group laughed as McGonagall got up to place the familiar, rickety three-legged stool in the centre of the dais and placed upon it a tatty hat. 

A scroll of parchment hovered in front of her face as she began reading out names and the Hat soon sorted Hogwarts’ newest student. 

He allowed his attention to wander for the majority of the Sorting, until he heard McGonagall’s Scottish brogue called ‘Greengrass, Astoria’ forward. It didn’t take long for the Hat to announce ‘Slytherin’ to the Hall. 

Astoria’s beaming face as she skipped over to her sister, enveloping her in a massive hug before squirming her way onto the bench between Daphne and Harry. 

The group turned as one when Dumbledore pushed back his chair and addressed everyone, his gaze lingering fondly over the Gryffindor table before resting on Harry. A flash of darkness flitted across his elderly face, but it was gone by the time he had cleared his throat. 

“Welcome! Welcome to another year at Hogwarts,” he began, his voice resonating around the Hall. “Now, I’d like to say a few words, before we all become too befuddled by our excellent feast.” Here he paused for a hair's breadth. “First, I am pleased to welcome Professor Remus Lupin who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Good luck Professor,” he chuckled. There was an echo of titters, primarily from the long table bedecked in scarlet and gold. 

“Ach, we’ve actually got to learn off that tramp?” Draco muttered sullenly as the strained laughter petered out. 

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher has decided to retire in order to spend more time with his remaining limbs. Fortunately, I am delighted to announce that his place will be taken by none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid.” 

“Ugh, a tramp and an oaf, this place really is going to the dogs,” Draco bemoaned. 

Harry grinned widely at his friend, imagining the hissy fit Hermione would have if she could hear their pompous friend. His mirth was quashed instantly when Dumbledore continued. 

“Finally, on a more disquieting note. At the request of the Ministry of Magic Hogwarts will, until further notice, play host to the dementors of Azkaban until such a time as Sirius Black is captured. The Dementors will be stationed at every entrance to the grounds. A word of caution, for whilst I have been assured that their presence will not disrupt our day-to-day activities, Dementors are vicious creatures. They will not distinguish between the one they hunt and the one who gets in their way.” He paused for a considerable amount of time, as though waiting for a visible sign that his words had sunk in. “But, you know, happiness can be found even in the darkest of times if one only remembers to turn on the light.” 

Harry shivered, glad for the distraction of the feast appearing before them on golden platters. The tantalising aromas wafting up from the food shoved all dark thoughts from his mind and he shovelled food down his throat as though he had been starved. 

Which he had for a majority of the holidays. 

Conversation took a while to kindle in the light of the Headmasters solemn warning, but soon enough Harry sat, listening to the ebb and flow between his friends. Daphne’s sister, Astoria, taking over the talk after a few moments. He watched as Blaise teased the youngest Greengrass, the tanned boy being the closest with the family. Harry had heard rumours that the Lady Zabini had begun talks to marry the two houses together with Lord Greengrass. 

Which was another thing he had never fully understood, the archaic practice of arranged marriages. He knew it still occurred in some Muggle cultures, but it was not something he was aware of happening in Britain. 

Harry shrugged after a while, devoting his attention to the copious amounts of food arrayed before him, diving in for second helpings and even thirds for pudding. 

Happiness and contentment welled up within him as his stomach grew uncomfortably full, sleepiness beginning to reign supreme. 

He was always glad to return to Hogwarts, if only for the regular, guaranteed meals. 

* 

3 rd September 1993 

“C’mon Draco, we’ve got Defence first,” Harry squawked as he downed a goblet full of orange juice. He’d long finished his breakfast of scrambled egg on toast, impatiently watching as Draco worked his way through the usual mountain of food. 

Draco rolled his eyes as he mopped up the last of his baked beans with a buttered slice of fresh bread and stuffed it in his mouth. Then he did something that would have made Cassiopeia laugh and Lucius choke on his morning coffee. He spoke through a mouthful of food. 

“Bloody ‘ell Pottah! Gimme a chance.” 

Harry’s face twisted with mock-disgust even as he laughed at the ordinarily prim and proper Pureblood’s antics, pretending to wipe spray from his face. 

“You’ve been eating for hours, you fat pig!” Harry jibed. 

He didn’t understand why he was so excited for Defence this year. So far, they’d had abysmal teachers. Hermione had told them outside Arithmancy yesterday that Professor Lupin made the subject very interesting and if his know-it-all best friend could compliment a professor in such a manner, maybe that was the root of his excitement. 

“Can’t believe you’re looking forward to learning from a tramp so much,” Draco drawled as he finally stood up and slung his satchel over his shoulder. It took a moment for Harry to register the quick movement. “Well, Potter? Are you coming, or what?” 

Harry scrabbled to his feet and the pair headed towards the third floor. Luck was with them as the stairs decided to cooperate and deposited them on the third floor without too many mishaps. When they made it to the classroom, there was only two others already there. Daphne and Blaise had their heads together as they carried on a quiet conversation. 

“Hey,” Harry said as he leant against the wall beside Daphne. 

“Alright,” Blaise said. Daphne turned and regarded the two warmly, her porcelain skin crinkling with a small smile that brightened her hazel eyes. 

By the time the bell rang, the rest of their class had appeared. There was a nervous excitement running through the gathered Slytherin’s. Most seemed a bit unsettled over being taught by another Gryffindor, wondering if he’d hold house prejudice or not. 

They filed in and separated into their friend groups. Draco sat with Blaise in front of Harry and Theo. Daphne had disappeared to join Pansy Parkinson. 

“Good morning, good morning,” a voice said from the back of the class. “No need to get anything out of your bags, if you’ll follow me.” Harry turned with the rest of his housemates to stare incredulously at Professor Lupin. “Yes, yes, I know we’d normally revise a couple of topics from last year but an opportunity too good to pass up has presented itself.” 

Every single Slytherin glanced at each other dubiously, wondering if there was something dodgy afoot. Harry grabbed Theo to haul him up and headed towards the door. 

He faltered as Remus Lupin smiled down at him. The barest hint of a memory flashing before his eyes. The perspective was completely wrong and the smile he recalled had been less tired. He shook his head and stood to one side to allow the others to file out past him, suddenly not wanting to be so close to the Defence Professor. 

“Drake,” Harry hissed and watched as his platinum haired friend dropped back to pace alongside him. “Do you think I knew Lupin before everything?” 

Harry watched his friend carefully, knowing that the marginally older boy could, and would, withhold certain information if he decided Harry would react badly to it. It had been the one quality of Draco’s that had almost caused the pair to fall out irreparably. 

“Honestly, Potter, I haven’t got a clue. I mean, your parents were Gryffindors, so maybe. But then again, Lupin looks older than Father and I’m sure he was several years ahead of your parents.” 

Harry had always been surprised at the ease in which he could discuss his parents with Draco. Maybe it was because Draco had lost a parent himself, around the same age as Harry. But he didn’t feel the anguish of not having known his parents, or the bitter resentment that others had, whenever he spoke about them with Draco. 

“You’re right,” Harry conceded, and the pair lengthened their strides to catch up with the rest of the class as they disappeared around a corner. 

As he trailed Draco into the Staff Room, surprised that they had managed to descend three floors without really paying attention, he dwelled on the fact that his mind seemed to be ambushing him with memories unusually frequently the last few days. He shuddered as he recalled the memories the Dementor had brought to the surface. 

From what he had been told, he was barely fifteen months old when his parents had been ruthlessly murdered by Voldemort. A tyrannical, murderous Dark Lord who had taken up the misinformed reigns dropped by Gellert Grindelwald and brought that war to British shores. 

Were the woman’s screams those of his mother as she was murdered? 

His heart sank as he dwelled on it more until the sound of wood being bashed and rattled caused at least one squeal of surprise. 

Harry looked up. In pride of place against one of the panelled walls was a battered old wardrobe. Scattered about the room was various types of seating, from a threadbare couch to squashy chintz armchairs and several regal looking wing-backed chairs. 

“Now, class, can anyone tell me what a Boggart is?” 

The class remained eerily quiet, several eyes casting apprehensive looks at the furiously rattling handle. No-one gave the slightest inclination that they wished to raise their hands and answer the professors question. 

Instead, as one, when the wardrobe gave a particularly violent shudder that caused it to bang against the wall, they moved several steps further away from the wardrobe and the scruffy professor standing calmly alongside it. 

“They’re shape-shifters, they shift to something it thinks will scare us most,” Harry finally said when Lupin made no attempt to fill the heavy silence. 

“Indeed,” Lupin said. “Boggarts like dark; enclosed spaces. Cupboards seem to be the most common, under sinks or stairs. Although I once met one that had wedged itself in a grandfather clock.” 

He beamed around the room, lingering several seconds longer upon Harry’s face. Harry yet again had to wrestle with the feeling of familiarity. 

“So, this Boggart is currently sitting in its favoured darkness, having assumed no form as it does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door most. Once I let it out, it will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. 

The Slytherin’s began shuffling their feet. Regardless of House reputation, no one truly wanted to face their darkest fear, and the prospect of such had many of them glancing nervously over their shoulders. 

“Can anyone think of an advantage against a Boggart?” Lupin asked the room. His hands were shoved deep within the pockets of his Muggle trousers, which hung loosely against his skinny frame. 

Harry startled as Draco’s voice echoed out, his tone one of bored disinterest. “Numbers. The more people there are, the more confusing it is for a Boggart to transform.” 

“Right you are,” Lupin responded before launching into yet another explanation. 

“I thought he said this was a practical lesson, not a lecture,” Draco hissed out of the corner of his mouth. 

Harry barely restrained the snort as he caught the last of what Lupin was saying. 

“- tried to frighten two people at once and turned into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.” 

Lupin looked around the room as though he was expecting some form of reaction from the stony-faced Slytherins. When none was forthcoming, he finally relented and moved on. 

“The key to defeating a Boggart is laughter. You need to force it to transform into a shape you find amusing with a specific charm.” He paused. “We will practice without wands first. After me, please… _R_ _iddikulus_!” 

There was a heavy pause before finally the class repeated the incantation. 

“Excellent! Now that was the easy part. The next is to manage everything I have described when facing your fear.” A finger tapped against his lips before he ordered; “Everyone, please organise yourselves in a queue and we shall see what you all come up with. 

Harry pulled Draco as close to the back of the sloppily formed line as quickly as he could. He suddenly didn’t want to be confronted by his Uncle in a rage as his fist flew towards his face… or maybe it would be one of those disgusting Dementors. Either way, he had no intention of reliving his worst memories in front of his housemates. 

Harry was surprised at the number of disappointed fathers stood in front of their Heirs. It was saddening really, that most of the thirteen-year-olds could figure nothing worse than having their Patriarch staring coldly down at them with disappointment bright in their eyes. 

Harry looked over to where Lupin stood, a strange shadow had settled over the older man’s face. Regret and sadness flashed repeatedly across pale eyes. He seemed to take pity; yet another boy stood before a frosty father and banished the Boggart back into the closet. 

“Okay class, five points for everyone who faced the Boggart and five points each for Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy,” the previously enthusiastic voice was sombre as he ushered the students towards the door. The spring was gone from his step as he led them back towards the classroom. Once they were safely ensconced within, he opened his mouth once more; “Assignment is to read the chapter on Boggarts and summarise it for me, to be handed in on Tuesday please. Class dismissed.” 

Everyone was subdued as they made their way to the entrance hall and traipsed their way across the grounds towards where Professor Sprout would be awaiting them in Greenhouse Three. 

The lesson went quietly, Sprout having picked up the energy emanating from each Slytherin within her class. Even the friendly rivalry that normally occurred between the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws was absent as they all robotically repotted Mandrakes under Sprout’s eagle eye. 

The bell finally rang, and everyone scattered. 

“What was that about?” Hermione asked as she caught up with Harry and Draco. 

“Defence was an eye opener,” Draco said softly. 

Harry felt confusion roil through him. Would Draco’s Boggart take form of Lucius staring coldly down his long nose at his son? Would those normally warm aquamarine eyes turn into the arctic tundra as his elegant features twisted with disgust and disgrace? 

Harry shuddered. He couldn’t imagine Lucius Malfoy treating his heir in such a way. Admittedly, he hadn’t spent lots of time around the Malfoy Patriarch, but he knew that Draco’s home-life was leagues better than his own. 

* 

Severus Snape eased his long body into the wingback armchair and allowed an indulgent sigh to escape his lips. He could feel the pleasant warmth rolling out of the hearth and he basked blissfully for several long moments, his eyelids dropping and obscuring his normally penetrative onyx gaze. 

“When you’re quite finished, Severus,” a thick Scottish brogue tore through his peaceful moment. He glared balefully at the iron-haired, dark-eyed witch. “Anyone would think _you’re_ the cat.” 

He snorted then, a great gust of air rushing from his aquiline nose. 

“What is it, Minerva?” he drawled, allowing his eyes to drift shut once more. But his senses were on high alert. Even seemingly relaxed, he knew exactly where Minerva McGonagall was. He sensed her movement through the room, high heels muffled against the carpet underfoot. Her usual emerald-green robes rustling with each movement. The distinctive sound of china being moved and the almost imperceptible whisper of her magic as she filled the kettle with water and set it to boil. 

“I know you’ve noticed something wrong with the Potter boy,” McGonagall’s voice rung out loudly into the silence that lapsed whilst she prepared tea. “I was never keen about Albus leaving that boy with those Muggles. Especially when there were better choices as to where to leave him.” 

Severus kept quiet. It was a skill he had learned where silence could ask better questions than he could ever contemplate to voice. He also maintained his relaxed posture, never once training his hard gaze upon the stern witch. 

“He has other family, not just the Muggles. James Potter was a Black through his mother’s side, why place Potter with Muggles ignorant of our world?” 

He realised after a moment that a response would be required; Minerva didn’t intend that question to be rhetoric. A sigh escaped from between his lips as he anchored the palms of his hands on the chairs arms and pushed himself up to a more polite position, rather than slumping lackadaisically. 

“For reasons unknown to me, Albus decided that Lily Evans’ family was the best place for the boy. Maybe it was their ignorance that made them the best candidate.” 

“Severus, you cannot tell me that those Muggles,” she spat the word with some venom this time, “was the better choice than Cassiopeia Black. That woman was besotted with Harry when I visited on Harry’s first birthday.” 

Severus cocked an eyebrow as Minerva slipped into calling the boy by his first name, which the witch pointedly ignored and carried on. 

“How they chose Sirius to be his godparent over Cassiopeia, I do not know.” 

His arched eyebrow rose further as its partner joined it in a bid to try to connect with his hairline. 

“Minerva, you know that I did not manage to reconcile fully with Lily before the Dark Lord attacked Godric’s Hollow. All I know is that Cassie was distraught, not only for the death of the Potter’s, but for her twin's participation.” 

McGonagall stewed silently for long minutes as the kettle shrieked for attention and she distracted herself with brewing their tea. She floated Severus’ cup over to him, prepared exactly as he preferred: strong, black and unsweetened. 

“Now that you’re talking, you can answer the first question Severus,” she snapped intense hazel eyes to his face, “and do not pretend that you’ve forgotten it. I know full well how perfect your memory is.” 

A smirk twisted the corner of his lips. “Ah, but Minerva, there wasn’t a question before that one.” 

Her nostrils flared and Severus was reminded strongly the reason behind his respect and liking of the elder witch. 

“Do not push me, Severus,” Minerva began, and her tirade was halted by a placating hand. 

“Yes, something is wrong with the boy. If what I believe to be true, he is abused by the Muggles.” Severus could clearly recall the cringing, terrified child cornered by the youngest male Weasley brat. 

“Severus, how can we allow him to continue to return to them?” 

He sighed. Seeing that boy swallowed in fear had been an awful, and stark, reminder of his own childhood. 

“Especially with Sirius Black on the loose. Wouldn’t he be better housed with the Malfoy’s?” 

Severus’ gaze snapped to hers in surprise. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Severus, I know what Lucius Malfoy was in the War. But I also trust Cassiopeia to have changed him.” 

He snorted. He couldn’t hold in the derisive sound. But he couldn’t truly fault Minerva on her assessment on that strong-headed, indomitable woman. 

“I always told Cassie she should have been a Gryffindor,” Severus replied mirthlessly. “But, Min, you know Albus will not be allowed to be proved wrong. He deemed them the safest, he will not hear otherwise.” 

“So be it. I hold enough sway in the Ministry still, I shall ensure that a Portkey is authorised for one week after Potter returns to the Muggles to take him to Malfoy Manor. I cannot abide in a child returning to an abusive household,” she paused noticeably. “That included yourself and the Black children.” 

Severus felt a slight blush tinge his cheeks before his Occlumency overruled his natural reaction at hearing the Gryffindor Head had attempted to make things better for himself, Cassie and Regulus even though they weren’t under her jurisdiction other than as Deputy Headmistress. 

“I shall talk to Cassiopeia and Lucius over Christmas and inform them. It will take several months for the Portkey to be authorised from a Muggle residence, maybe Lucius will be able to add his sway.” 

Minerva bowed her head slightly in acceptance of his proposition and took a sip from her cup. A calmness settled over her as she regarded the dark-haired, dark-eyed Potion’s Master with a fondness. She had never been able to reconcile the shy youth with the proud man that sat before her. But something had changed in him, something that made him a better, stronger person. Even if he was a belligerent arse most of the time, she was glad when he had accepted her tentative hand of friendship. 

* 

8 th September 1993 

A week into the new term, Harry was already feeling exhausted but revitalised. 

The electives he had picked were a new challenge, but he found Arithmancy and Ancient Runes interesting... it helped that he had both Hermione and Draco to explain anything that Professors Vector or Babbling rushed over in class. 

Care of Magical Creatures seemed a bit of a pointless class for Harry. The newly promoted Professor Hagrid kept on losing his thread of thought in their new lesson, wherein they simply went through the curriculum under the sharp eye of Professor McGonagall. 

Regardless of the gruelling first week, Harry was content. 

His only issue being in the form of a red-headed bane of his life. Ronald Weasley had already sabotaged their Potion’s lesson although Weasley had landed himself in detention. 

“Would you ever become an Animagus?” Harry asked Draco as they headed down to lunch after a morning filled with Defence and Transfiguration. 

Draco scrunched his face up in consideration. “Admittedly, it would be useful. But you saw the drawings of what happens when it goes wrong.” 

Harry laughed. “Drake, they don’t happen regularly. You just don’t wanna put a leaf in your mouth.” He bumped Draco’s shoulder with his, jostling his blond-haired friend amicably. 

As they entered the Great Hall to grab some lunch, Harry’s gaze automatically landed on the Gryffindors… more specifically Ron Weasley who glared balefully at him in return. 

“I never understood why you gave that lolloping moron a chance,” Draco said airily before dragging Harry over to the Slytherin table. 

“He was friendly… and kinda insistent to be honest,” Harry replied, his brow furrowing at the chicken salad sandwich Draco had dumped on his plate with an absurd about of potato crisps. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.” 

“That doesn’t sound friendly at all,” Draco commented around a mouthful of his BLT, cramming several crisps in before he’d fully finished the first mouthful. 

“You’re disgusting you know that?” Harry replied, pointedly staring at the other’s mouth. 

In response, Draco grinned widely, an unholy mash of bread, bacon and tomato between his teeth before he swallowed it quickly. “Lucius would have your hide if he saw how you purported yourself at Hogwarts.” 

“Bloody ‘ell, Potter, that’s a long word for you. You spend too much time around Granger!” Draco said, the remnants of his previous mouthful lingering on his tongue as he dropped his jaw in mock-surprise. “Anyway, you never did tell me what happened between you and Weaslebee last year.” 

Harry gulped. He’d not even told Cassiopeia who had a way of wheedling all his close-kept secrets from him. 

“I’d like to become an Animagus,” it was a blatant avoidance, but Harry couldn’t refrain from sighing in relief when Draco went with it. “I reckon I’d be something big and fierce.” 

“You mean, you’d most likely be a tiny black kitten.” 

“Hey!” Harry squeaked indignantly as he shoved Draco in the shoulder. “I’d like to be a huge tiger or something, that would be cool.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and humoured Harry as they talked about what Animagus form each of them would take, _if_ they ever decided to go through with it. 

Before long, the warning bell was tolling through the castle and the pair leapt up, their friends coalescing around them. 

“I still can’t believe we have to have Care and Potions with those idiots,” Theo muttered darkly as they followed a group of Gryffindors down to where the Groundskeepers hut was sat on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. 

Harry enjoyed the fresh, moisture laden air as it tickled along his robes. His face automatically tilted towards the clear; pale sky as he inhaled deeply. 

It was a peaceful stroll down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s hut, Harry allowing Theo and Draco’s conversation to go in one ear and out the other. They were both bemoaning the necessity of attending yet another lesson with Gryffindors. 

“Technically, you don’t. This is an elective,” Harry pointed out as he tried to ignore Weasley. 

Rubeus Hagrid stood waiting at the door of his hut. The moleskin coat that draped his ginormous body looked as though Harry, Draco _and_ Theo, possibly Blaise too, could comfortably fit within it, and sat patiently at his heel was his massive boarhound. There was a buzzing eagerness to the newly appointed Professor’s countenance. 

“C’mon, get a move on!” Hagrid called as the last few stragglers gathered by the hut. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson planned. Everyone here? Right then, follow me!” 

Hagrid skirted the edge of the Forest and into a sheltered area, where a wooden-fenced paddock was located… completely empty. 

“The oaf must have forgotten the Magical Creatures,” Draco muttered with an eye-roll. 

Harry elbowed Draco in the short ribs, causing the slightly taller boy to release a wheezing _oof_. 

“Everyone, gather roun’ the fence ‘ere!” Hagrid called out, his great black beard rustling with a hidden grin. “Firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books-” 

“How?” Harry looked to his side; Draco stood holding his book tightly bound with an expensive looking leather belt. Harry had to roll his eyes at the nonchalant, cold drawl Draco had spoken in. But Draco did have a point. Harry’s own book was tied shut with several lengths of string. 

“Eh?” 

Harry felt a pang of pity for the great, lumbering man stood before them. Hagrid’s previous energy had wilted, just like his moustaches, as he looked over the gathered class in confusion. 

“How do we open our books?” Draco expounded, his grey eyes rolling so hard that Harry feared they would remain stuck pointing towards the back of his skull. 

Everyone else had pulled out their books and every single copy of the Monster Book of Monsters was restrained in some manner. Belts, string, rope, fabric in some cases and those that were Muggle-Born even had bullclips clamped around the edges. 

“Hasn’ anyone been able to open their books?” Hagrid asked, his voice losing its typical cheery air. He looked like someone had told him that he could never have another pet ever again: completely crestfallen. 

As one, the class shook their heads, some even raising their books for Hagrid to see the lengths they had had to go to stop the devil thing from attacking them. 

“Yeh’ve got to _stroke_ ‘em,” Hagrid said after a moment, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pulled Seamus’ copy from his hands, peeling off the Spellotape that bound it. The book instantly attempted to savage Hagrid’s hand, but he smoothed a giant forefinger down the spine of the book, and it calmed before dropping open quietly within his dustbin-lid sized hand. 

“Why didn’t we guess that we needed to _stroke_ them!” Draco sneered and Harry hissed at him from the corner of his mouth to give it a rest. 

Hagrid had begun to look downcast. Harry felt sorry for the poor man, whilst it was abundantly clear that Hagrid was in over his head, Harry didn’t wish the man to fail. 

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Weasley barked. 

“He has a point, give the man a chance,” Harry muttered, causing Draco to snort inelegantly. 

“Righ’ then,” Hagrid began, desperately trying to rein in his previous enthusiasm for the class. “Hang on, I’ll go an’ get the Magical Creatures.” 

Hagrid stomped away into the Forest. 

“Salazar, this place really has gone to the dogs,” Draco complained. “That oaf teaching classes, how are we meant to learn anything.” 

“Just give it a rest, if it’s that bad, you can drop the lesson,” Harry said, keeping a careful eye on Weasley who looked to be slowly making his way towards where the Slytherin’s were huddled. 

Just then a female Gryffindor squealed, a finger pointing towards the opposite side of the paddock. 

Everyone turned to face the way the girl was pointing excitedly to catch sight of a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Harry had ever seen trotting towards them. The rear half of the creature was comprised by the body and hindlegs of a horse and its tail, but the front legs, wings and heads reminded Harry queasily of a gigantic eagle. Cruel looking, steel-coloured beaks hooked savagely from the fronts of their proud faces and either side of said beaks were bright large, brilliant orange eyes. 

Harry eyed the massive, deadly-looking talons adorning the front legs apprehensively. Even the sight of wide, leather collars did nothing to assuage his nerves. Heavy chains coiled off the collars and led back to Hagrid, who was trotting behind them easily. 

Everyone took two or three hasty steps back as Hagrid coaxed the creatures towards the fence, where they were tethered. 

“These are Hippogriffs,” Hagrid boomed happily. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?” 

It was Harry’s turn to snort. Even after the initial shock had worn off, he still struggled to comprehend the beauty of the ferocious looking creatures, although the variety in the colouration of each Hippogriff did delight the eye. 

“Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is they’re proud,” Hagrid said, rubbing his hands together and beaming at the class. “Easily offended, they are. Don’ ever insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh do.” 

Harry eyed the closest creature warily, an inky black monster that luckily seemed more curious in what could be discovered amongst the lush, green grass underfoot. 

“Always wait fer the Hippogriff ter make the firs’ move,” Hagrid continued. “It’s polite. Yeh walk towards him, bow an’ yeh wait. If they bows back, yeh’re allowed ter touch them. If they doesn’t bow, then get away sharpish.” 

The unspoken threat of those wicked talons hung thick in the air. 

“So, who wan’s ter go firs’?” 

Everyone scurried back in response. The Hippogriffs were tossing their heads and flexing massive wings in agitation. Harry was certain they didn’t appreciate being tethered. 

“No-one?” Hagrid asked, his voice softening as he gazed pleadingly across the Gryffindor ranks. 

“I’ll do it.” 

Harry stepped forward and could hear Draco hissing and spitting in disbelief, calling him all manner of names. 

“Excellent, over yer come Harry.” The relief in Hagrid’s voice was palpable as Harry stepped forward on trembling legs and clambered over the fence. “Le’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.” 

Hagrid untied one of the chains and pulled a grey Hippogriff away from his fellows before slipping off the collar. Everyone, including Harry, held their collective breath. 

“Yeh’ve got eye contact, try not ter blink. Hippogriffs don’ trus’ yeh if yeh blink too much,” Hagrid said quietly. 

As if tempting fate, Harry’s eyes immediately felt dry, but he dared not shut his eyes to relieve them. The Hippogriff, Buckbeak, had turned his head and regarded Harry with an intense orange eye. 

“Now bow, Harry,” Hagrid instructed in the same soft voice as though worried to break the tentative peace. 

Harry gulped. The last thing he wanted to do was leave himself vulnerable in front of a vicious looking beast, but he did as he was told. He gave a short bow, trying to exude respect with the movement but didn’t have it in him to do the motion smoothly, nor slowly, instead rushing up to face the Hippogriff once more. 

Which continued to just stare down at him haughtily. 

“Ah, careful Harry. Quick as yeh like, back away,” Hagrid began, worry definitely within his voice now. 

Everyone gasped as the Hippogriff bent a scaly knee and sunk into an unmistakeable bow. 

“Excellent!” Hagrid said, ecstatic. “Yeh can touch ‘im now! Pat his beak, go on!” 

Harry restrained a sigh, darting a quick look over to his friends. Draco stood at the front, his pale face even paler than usual as he released Theo’s forearm, whose face was twisted in pain. Harry felt the better idea would be getting away from the Hippogriff, but he stepped forward, battling against his self-preservation instincts and patted the beak before him. Buckbeak’s eyes fluttered shut lazily in enjoyment of the attention. 

Harry began to enjoy himself as well, losing himself to the feel of the hard beak under his hands before slowly transitioning to the unbelievably soft, downy feathers on the Hippogriffs cheek. 

A shadow descended upon them and Harry flinched away, a small gasp escaping from between his lips as he shrunk backwards. His forearm had raised slowly to protect himself when a flurry of movement snapped his eyes open. 

Stood between him and the shocked face of Hagrid was Buckbeak, who had half raised his wings to make the creature appear even bigger. A strange noise rumbled from the Hippogriffs chest. 

“Righ’ then! Everyone, come forward,” Hagrid called, backing away from the posturing Buckbeak. The rest of the class surged forward as Hagrid untethered the rest of the Hippogriffs. 

Soon enough, everyone had picked a creature, groups of three or four students surrounding each Hippogriff as they took it in turns to try and approach them. 

Draco bowed grandiosely once he’d appeared at Harry’s side and waited patiently to be given permission to approach, which happened surprisingly quick once Harry relaxed. 

“Are you okay?” Draco asked softly. Harry was glad that the question was broad enough and felt an enormous surge of platonic love towards his best friend that he wouldn’t pressure him into vocalising what had occurred 

Harry just nodded and focused his attention onto the Hippogriff, which was crooning under their gentle ministrations. 

The pair were patting Buckbeak when he reared up with a massive screech, knocking Harry to the ground as a wing clipped his shoulder. 

A blood curdling scream erupted from a few paces away and Harry cricked his neck to locate the source of the sound as soon as he could. A brief flash of pain obscured his vision momentarily before coalescing into something that Harry couldn’t prevent the laugh from burbling up from his narrow chest. 

Stiff as a board, like the students petrified in their second year, face as pale as the Bloody Baron with tears tracking down his face was Ron Weasley. But he was lying prone on the floor in between Buckbeak’s front legs. 

“Buckbeak!” Hagrid roared and charged towards the Hippogriff, which was flexing his talons so that deep gouges of dirt erupted either side of Weasley’s face. 

“I’m gonna die,” a small squeak could be heard. 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Weasley moaned. 

“Yer not dead,” Hagrid said. His face was pale and his dark eyes darting in every direction. “Class dismissed.” 

The Slytherin’s promptly abandoned the paddock, leaving the Gryffindor’s to dither over what had happened to Ron and convince the red head that he wasn’t dead and wasn’t going to die. 

“Did you see the way that Hippogriff charged Weasley?” Theo crowed once they’d turned the corner and began traipsing back up the lawn. 

“No, what actually happened?” Draco demanded. He’d blacked out for several heartbeats after taking a wing to his jaw and had groggily observed the fallout. 

“I was just about to shout to you two when it charged. Weasley had his wand out and pointed at Harry,” Theo said softly. “That creature protected Harry.” 

* 

24 th September 1993 

Harry rubbed a hand across his face tiredly as he stared at the food Draco had dumped on his plate. Crispy bacon sat proudly atop a slice of golden-brown toast and was crowned by two delicious looking friend eggs. His stomach rumbled hungrily as the aroma of his breakfast lifted towards him. 

Draco had already demolished half of his much bigger breakfast, burst yolk mingling with the sauce from his baked beans. Harry had just begun to work his way through the food when an eruption of noise dragged his eyes up. Owls had started flooding into the Great Hall, circling the tables in search of their burden's recipients. 

A light grey owl alighted before him, causing Harry to inhale a crumb in surprise. After his tear-inducing coughing fit had calmed and he’d greedily gulped down a mouthful of orange juice, he returned his attention to the extremely tall owl staring curiously at him. He run a finger down the soft feathers of the owl's chest, his fingers disturbing the striped feathers and resettling them. 

“Hey Archie,” Harry said, and the owl opened one eye to acknowledge his voice. He paused the petting for a moment to release the bound scroll fixed to the owl's leg. 

“How come Mum’s writing to you and not me?” Draco whined. 

“Because I am her favourite,” Harry replied, a grin splitting his face in two. He broke the wax seal bearing the Malfoy crest as a beak nibbling at his knuckled recalled him to Archimedes. Harry began feeding him a sausage and filled a goblet with some water for the owl whilst he read through the letter. 

_Dear Harry,_

_I would like you to come spend Christmas with us this year, the whole of break and not just a few days as you have done previously._

_I have also signed something that I am sure your Muggle family did not._

_Stay safe, that means both of you as I am sure Draco is reading over your shoulder by now._

_Cassie_

_P.S. In return for the signature, I want you to meet me every Hogsmeade trip. I will explain on your first trip at the end of next month._

Harry shifted the letter to one side and immediately recognised the Hogsmeade permission slip. Joy crashed through him at the sight of it. 

“Can she even do that? She’s not my guardian,” Harry asked Draco. 

Draco shrugged, a cocky grin twisting his pointed features. “Does it matter? Father is a School Governor so he must have found a loophole.” 

“Potter, Malfoy,” a gruff voice broke into their small bubble. The pair looked up immediately to see the hulking, dark-haired form of Marcus Flint. “Quidditch practice begins tomorrow morning.” 

The two looked at one another before nodding to Flint, who nodded in response before lumbering off once more. 

“I think Archie is waiting for a response.” 

Harry pulled a scrap of parchment out of his satchel and hastily scribbled a reply. 

_Hi Cassie,_

_Thanks for the permission slip, you’re truly the best._

_I’d love to spend Christmas at the Manor._

_Yes, Draco was reading over my shoulder. He’s very nosey like that, no manners._

_See you soon._

_Harry._

_P.S. I hope I’m not in trouble!_

“Oi, I have plenty of manners!” 

Harry just snorted inelegantly in response as he offered Archimedes the scroll. Soon enough the Barred owl was winging his way back to his home in Wiltshire. 

Harry stuffed the permission slip deep within his satchel and resumed eating his breakfast. 

In next to no time, a happy buzz rumbling in his chest, Harry was leading Draco towards the Ravenclaw table. Sat next to a dreamy eyed, blonde-haired girl was Hermione who immediately leapt to her feet after crushing the girl in a quick embrace and skipped over to them. 

Bickering erupted between Hermione and Draco near enough straight away, but Harry floated along beside them in complete contentment, he’d give the blonde Ravenclaw a run for her money when it came to dreamy expressions just then. 

He drifted in his best friends’ wake, oblivious to their conversation, looking forward to the whole of his Christmas holidays for the first time. 

He moved, unseeing, until the familiar smells of the library buffeted his senses. 

“What’s got you all dreamy-eyed?” Hermione asked loudly, her eyebrows drawing down after Harry ignored her the first time. 

“Mum invited him home for the whole of Christmas,” Draco provided after a long moment. “And she signed Harry’s Hogsmeade slip.” 

Hermione cocked her eyebrow in surprise. “Is she allowed to do that?” 

Draco just shrugged, clearly saying he didn’t care but he was glad Harry would be able to go to Hogsmeade with them. 

/*\ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think :) and thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think, kudos/comments are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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